Forever Tomorrow: A Broken Soul
by Atroposian
Summary: After the appearance of Apocalypse, Sam's life is changed forever. He is haunted by odd and terrible visions and trances. Struggling to assert his identity and above all: to find true love in a twisted, nightmare world. Plz R&R! Should I write more?
1. Chapter 1: Entranced

CHAPTER ONE: ENTRANCED

My name is Sam Kinoscia. And I am 16 years of age. I live in New York, in a mansion ten times bigger than what used to be my house. The place is crawling with what society now recognizes as mutants. Or most commonly: the "mutant menace." I often wonder if their fear of us goes that deep, or if it is just what their leaders and the media tell them to believe.

The reason I live here is simple. No, they have not abducted me from my family; far from that. It is because I am a mutant too. A powerful elemental, I think. Though I would never compare myself with Ororo Monroe -- better known as Storm. Though I do like to think I give her a run for her money where water manipulation is concerned.

Thinking stuff like that helps me with my low self-esteem. At least that is what my mother called it. I call it something else. But of course, she doesn't know. No one save me, and perhaps Professor Xavier, knows. He, our dear mentor of many things in this harsh life of ours, like me, prefers to keep it a secret. At least until I am ready.

You might be wondering what it is, and perhaps already took a few guesses; who knows, maybe one of you out there is psychic too and can read in-between the lines of this flaky, teenage rant. But I will not tell you until I think it is totally needed. Else, it wouldn't be as fun to watch your shocked faces, and perhaps some of you backing away. Whatever. I think I have already said too much.

You must have already read tons of testimonials of many other flaky, self-absorbed, teenagers that live here in the Xavier Institute. You might be wondering when I am going to break down and tell you all about how I first found out I was a mutant. But I won't. It is a difficult thing for me to talk about. The memory is bound with many tears and much sadness. Let's just say that I discovered it not too long ago. And that it caused the death of people I knew, and loved. For that reason alone, and perhaps more, I will stop there.

Professor Xavier says I have not made much progress in this area. Which I think means that I have not accepted the past. Moved on. But I am not like his other X-geeks. I prefer to keep my hurts within, safely locked away. He goes on warning that they could escape. I do not listen because it makes me feel dumb and childish, the way he talks to me. As if I did not already know it. So I keep on living, the best I can.

When I first arrived at the Institute, a sketchy version of the story of the accident soon leaked out. I became an outcast, even amongst outcasts. It only served to convince me that acceptance is rarely an option in the real world. It is only for those that are normal. Or normal according to the weirdo's judgment. For about three months I just lurked around, in the shadows. Watching. Saying little, but listening much. Thus I came to know, in a detached way, and understand these people.

They no longer avoid me. But I have settled into the role of outcast, and am very comfortable with it. My life is simple that way. I am not an X-Man, nor do I want to be. I do not go out on missions to save the world from whatever menace has appeared. That's O.K. with me; I do not feel like saving it.

I simply wake up in the mornings. Go to school, making sure to avoid all possible human contact, especially girls. Come back and do whatever homework I might have been assigned. And when the television stops showing vaguely entertaining programs, I go soundly to sleep. Save for those nights when I dream about the past. I have nightmares that leave me sweating and sitting up on my bed. Maybe the Professor is right. Maybe I need to resolve my issues. But it hurts deep within to even think about it. So I don't. Not yet, anyhow.

~*~*~

A night ago I heard some of the X-Men come into the house. Late at night. I was up because of a recent nightmare. I think they might be getting worse; at least this one was terrible. I strained to listen as the senior members gathered in the Professor's office. At first the voices were faint. But I was oddly intrigued. Few know how much I really know about them. Even fewer could guess how I usually find out.

I am a water elemental, my entire nature is. Not only can I manipulate the tricky element, but I can attain some of its qualities as well. This time, clarity is the way to go. I silently, and fluidly, walk to the place in the mansion that is directly above the office. Lay flat on the floor, and will it to become like porous crystal. It obligingly obeys. Not only does it give me perfect view, but also allows sound to filter through from below.

Listening carefully, and not making any noise whatsoever, I stay there and wait for words to grace my ear. Maybe the Professor has already sensed my presence. He does not seem to mind, though.

They talk about going to London. And three "magical" keys that should or should not have joined together. And then there was a giant, super-strong, green spider walking across the city. Some mutants tried to stop it. They tried to stop those mutants, for some odd reason. The Professor was confronting another psychic mutant who called himself Mesmero. And then our old foe, Magneto, finally managed to destroy the bug. Good riddance, I'd say. But that is not what the Professor says, however.

Maybe there was more to the conversation, I don't know. Next thing I know, I am falling into some sort of trance. I convulse. See odd things. Horrible things. I am terrified, now. There's someone beckoning to me. Who?

No answer. I seem to have fallen through the floor and onto Professor Xavier's office. Some look shocked, others stern and forbidding. That was Wolverine, his perpetual frown deeper than ever, if possible. Wondering how I have gotten here, I look towards the Professor. He doesn't look mad at me. Is that pity in his face?

"Wha-What happened to me?" I say groggily, still trying to come out of the trance I must have fallen into. Jean Grey and Storm now come to help me stand. Cyclops gives them a hand, or rather, gives me a hand. Timidly, I take it, and heave myself up.

"How long were you there, Sam? How much of our conversation did you over-hear?" The Professor asks, pity washing away into heart-felt sympathy -- and concern.

"N-Not much," I lie. Shouldn't have. Now he reads my mind, like an open book. Maybe I should learn how to block him.

"It is alright, do not worry," said the bald, old man for whom I have so much respect. "Return to your room and get some sleep, you'll need to rest for tomorrow."

And he doesn't say more. But I can also sense something in those words. There's more than school tomorrow Thursday. I also know that he will not tell me. The Professor can be very cryptic when he wants to be. Who will challenge him? Who will read his mind?

~*~*~*~

So, that was last night. And even now, after an overly extended day at Bayville High, I am still wondering about it. Maybe he saw the horrors I saw in the trance. But the thing is, I myself cannot remember them clearly. After the trance was broken, it seemed to leak out of me, save a few puzzling traces of it.

Scott Summers, whose code-name is Cyclops when in uniform, has offered to take give me a ride. I was slightly surprised when he asked at lunch. That is a privilege reserved only for the senior members of the X-Men. But I accepted anyhow. I like Scott, he's a friend, I think. I have never asked, for I think asking friends to restate their friendship is rather rude. No doubt this is a direct order from the Professor. I don't care; the air of mystery around the whole subject has made me curious.

As I step out of the school building, he is there waiting for me. No trace of his girlfriend, Jean Grey. He's alone and leaning on his red sports car. I cannot help but to think that he looks as if posing for some modeling agency. When he notices me, he smiles and waves at me to come over. Somehow, this gesture makes me blush, and smile, too. But just before I get into the car I notice this certain cheerleader giving me a nasty look. Smile is replaced by the usual bland, unassuming look.

By the time I have my seat-belt on, the car's engine has already started, and he is changing gears to head towards the mansion. Obviously, today he is not going to wait for his other friends. Odd. After a few minutes of silent, awkward driving, he finally speaks up.

"So, what's up?" He says so smoothly that you'd think we'd been best buds since childhood.

"Oh, nothing," I try to sound as cool as him, but I'm very nervous. I think my hands are beginning to sweat as I worry.

Another pause. He seems to be struggling with something to say. Debating whether he should venture or not. I wait.

"I never saw you smile before," he sounds more serious now, perhaps hiding his momentary fright as saying this. It must be difficult for the macho, cold-hearted leader of the X-Men to say this. "You should smile more often; people might think you are a cold-fish if you are so serious all the time."

He's rambling on now. Trying to cover up the fact that he said it, mentioning other people's opinion. I blush, because he seems to care. A quick thought, and then I smile again, genuinely. Not for those other people, for him. He blushes, too.

"Give me something to be happy about, and I'll smile more often, then," I taunt.

He looks at me with more than one unexpressed thought. He won't say it. But I know what he means. Were it up to him, I'd be eternally laughing. This time I cannot help the grin that slashes across my face. From this point on, silence rides with us in the car. Perhaps we have both gone too far already.

The car swerves around the cul-de-sac that faces the mansion's front doors. Stops. Engines are shut off. And I get out of the passenger's seat. He gets up too, and we begin walking up the steps. Once through the doors:

"Well, nice talking to you, but I gotta go," Scott says sheepishly. Would he rather stay, and talk more? I dare not ask. I am still too shy.

"Same here. The Professor wants to see me for some reason," I hint, throw in the bait, wait for it to catch. No luck.

"I guess you'll have to find out," a play of thoughts and emotions clearly visible on his face. Maybe he knows, but has been forbidden to tell me before the Professor. "Anyway, see you around?" And he extends his hand for me to shake it in a friendly manner. Wonder if he knows the volumes his body-language speaks.

"Yeah, sure," I take the hand firmly and shake it, "See ya."

And then we head our separate ways. Me to the direction of the Professor's office. He heads up the stairs towards his room.

Before I manage to knock on the office door, Professor Xavier surprises me with one of his habitual tricks:

_"Come on in, Sam. We've been waiting for you."_ Ah, you've got to love that telepathy!

I walk in shyly. When he said we, he was referring to Jean Grey, sitting in a comfortably-cushioned chair to his right. There's an unoccupied, and similar chair to his left. Saying my greetings to the both of them, I sit there and wait for him to begin.

"I want to discuss what happened last night," he states in a serious tone, more concern sounds in his voice. "I take it you do not remember much of what you saw during your trance upstairs?"

"Only vaguely, though," I begin to wonder if I have seen something that I am not supposed to see. I gather up my failing courage, and prompt, "It was a vision, wasn't it?"

"Yes. But we know what form your powers take. And though they might allow for you to read signs in many things that most people miss, visions are not often one of the perks." He paused for a moment and looked at me with those deep, piercing eyes. "Since you overheard our entire talk up to that point, then I suppose it will not do harm to talk freely of it."

Before he can continue, I venture, "Up to what point?"

"You don't remember?" It is Jean's turn to speak, her voice slightly surprised. Remembering the talk with Scott, her boyfriend, just before, I involuntarily turn a bit defensive.

"No."

"Ah, I see. I think that what you might have experienced was induced by the name," once more Professor Xavier remains as vague as ever.

"What name?" I prod once more.

He looks at Jean for a moment, seemingly talking to her with his mind. She nods slightly, thinking that I did not notice it. And turns to look at me, and so does he.

"The name that you over-heard, and which supposedly triggered the trance and the vision was the name of the very mutant we had discovered last night. He is ancient, and very powerful. And, with the exception of his servant, Mesmero, and now us, he is largely unknown." Stopping for a while, probably to see if I had remembered, he read my obvious signs of puzzlement. He continued, "The name is Apocalypse."

Once more I seemed to slip into the very same trance. I saw things unspeakable. Hear horror upon horror. But this time it did not stop. I screamed for it to stop, but it would not. It was driven, onwards, by some other mind. Suddenly, and with increasing surprise, I identified the mind as the Professor's. There was an independent shadow along with it. But I discarded it with some rather cold feelings.

Professor's mind spoke to mine: _"Relax, now, Sam. I want to take you through all of this, guide you out of this maze. As odd as it might seem, I believe the answers to your problems lie here. Relax. Let me take you back..."_

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Chapter 2: Half Answers

CHAPTER TWO: HALF ANSWERS

"_So dark... so dark! Where am I?" A childish voice I recognize as my own speaks._

"_Relax, Sam. I am still here. This is your past, your childhood."_

_He allows me time to find myself again, not as the scared lost child, but as the teenager who has been taken on a journey through his own mind. Through various events that he would rather keep secret, even from the most powerful mind on Earth. I am afraid of what he might find._

"_Where are we, Sam?"_

_I look around, and as I become accustomed to the darkness, I begin to distinguish old shapes. "Inside my closet, at my old house."_

"_Why are we here?"_

"_I don't know!" But I do. I just have to open the door. Let the light outside stream inside..._

_There is writing -- odd writing -- on the inside side of the door. It had been previously invisible because of the darkness inside the closet. I know who did it. It couldn't have been anyone else. No one else has spent months idly doodling the very same pattern of pictograms wherever there is pen and paper. But this one is odd. I did it last night... and last night I had slept here because I had bad dreams. But the dreams did not go away. They haunted me even into the safety of the closet. Why is the ink reddish-looking? Because it is my blood. I see my body as a child; my right hand has a nasty slash across it, dried blood clotting the wound._

_I am speechless, petrified. He knows it. He tries with all his powers to comfort me. But he can't. This is but the first part of a long series of events. He feels sorry for me, for my disturbed youth, but he still wants me to go on. I will. This time nothing will stop me._

_I look around the room, and by the posters and the date in the Winnie-the-Pooh calendar I reason that I must be about ten years old. Just then, there is a slight knock on the door. But the person knocking doesn't stop, but barges right into the room. Mother, so pretty and serene, walks in. For a moment she is speechless, having noticed the blood-drawn pictograms. I cannot face her; I turn my back to her. She begins talking, but I can't understand all she says. There is the vague impression that at first the speech begun with a warm, soothing voice. But now, about two minutes into it, it has changed. Her voice is high-pitched, she's screaming. It hurts my ears, and I cover them. She grabs my hand and whips me around. And... She is covered in blood too!_

_Blood... Blood... Blood... Blood!_

_But I am older now. I am what, ten? Yes, oh god. Oh My God! This is the Accident! I can't think. I can't think!_

_Mother is covered in blood! Everything's wet. Slippery. Now, dry. Cold. Freezing! I can see it now: the pictograms are glowing bright blue. They are telling me something... I think I can make it out. Yes, Professor, I can hear... Are you there Professor? Professor!!_

"_Kill, kill everyone, KILL!!" It keeps screaming that at me, and it is convincing me. Oh God, I can't stop it. It wants me to kill!_

"_KILL! KILL!"_

_Everything's shifting. Where are we, Professor!?_

_The orphanage. The courtyard. The children: taunting me. Calling me a freak. My powers just manifested, I think. But it is drenching my entire mattress. And the kids think I am peeing my bed! Oh, the voice!_

"_KILL! KILL THEM ALL!!"_

_The ground shakes, water begins to seep from beneath. The cemented courtyard shakes more, cracks. Huge columns of heated water shoot up from the ground. Everyone drenched. Screaming! Boiling! They die... boiling..._

"_...And then, you found me, Professor. And you brought me here. You used your powers to convince everyone it had all been a disaster. And a miracle. Because nothing had happened to me. So many people -- children -- died. But I was intact. But you don't know what it is. Do you, Professor? You can't battle Apocalypse's mind. He is too strong for you. But I am not. Is this what you were looking for? Is this what you wanted? Did you want to use me!?"_

"_No, Sam. But I am sorry if I pushed you too much. I am sorry."_

"_Sorry? SORRY!? DIE!"_

~*~*~

And the ground shakes. Out of control. I do not make it shake. I am not Avalanche. I am Hydro! The water is coming. Boiling like that day at the orphanage. But I can't control it. I do not have the will to resist, either. Everything is ebbing out of me. Look, there goes my free-will. Is God real? If he is, then let him stop this! Please, I don't want to kill them too...

And it stops. Things are coming back to me. I can see them now. Jean, her face ashen, frozen in her chair in total fear and horror. Of me? Damnable, but she is. I feel guilty. And the Professor? I am too ashamed to look at him. Just as I return to myself, my soul shudders and breaks into a thousand pieces. How could I have said that? How could I have done that?

Professor X senses my worries, and tries to reassure me, "Sam, it was not your fault. You were being controlled by -- by him."

I begin to sob. No more grace in my movements, I break down and cry. I never remembered that. I had forced myself to forget it because it pained me so much. It was my mother for God's sakes! God? He doesn't matter anymore! I can't help but to wail, and hug myself to try and stop the shaking. My shaking subsides.

I try to talk, say I am sorry. But I can't. I can't do anything but cry. And when the tears fall, either on my hands or on my lap, they slice and cut. Not normal tears. They kill. I cry even harder now. My hands are severely cut now, and they bleed. They don't move. They simply look at me with those pity filled eyes. But I have to control myself. If I get mad the tremors will start again, and they will be killed.

Stand up. Be strong. Go to your room. Pack your things. Get away. Now. Now before you destroy them all. I run, away from them, ignoring their calls. I fly up the stairs, almost in one stride all together. I slide down the corridors. My room, alone. Pack up. Run away, now. Away forever. Forever --

Scott -- right in front of me! Wha-What happened? Why am I here? Wasn't I at the Professor's office downstairs? Oh no! I've been possessed?

I slide once more, this time straight the floor, fainting. I feel strong arms pick me up. And then I fade away. What is happening to me?

~*~*~

Urg. So groggy. So dizzy.

Where am I? The question doesn't go long before being answered.

"Sam, I am glad to see you are awake," Professor X comments off-handedly, as if nothing had happened at all. He notices -- he always does.

My eyes fix on him, there could not possibly be hatred in them, but I feel it nonetheless. I hate him for driving me on to relive all of those awful memories. I hate him for noticing this, even this.

"I am sorry Sam. I shouldn't have driven you this way." Well, he's not only psychic, but with a flair for stating the obvious!

I look away. Uncomfortable silence fills the room. I look beyond the Professor, next to my bed in what seems to be the infirmary. Jean Grey is there, so is Scott; they are holding hands. Ororo is there too, that serene stately countenance streaked with worry. Wolverine is standing up moodily in a corner, but I can notice his worry. It seems they all know, by the way they move and carry themselves. They seem to know more than I do.

"What happened to me?" I make it a point not to look at the Professor, but at the others. Almost directly at Scott, though I feel that I must be subtle with Jean here.

Ororo volunteers to diffuse the tension. "You were possessed, again."

It is that simple. There is no need to explain more, of course. I already know that I am being possessed and clutched at like a rag-doll. What else is new? Seemingly, my impatience shows in my face. But I would never purposely antagonize Ororo.

"It seems that he has been reaching from his prison for almost six years now. Reaching out to you," she continues in her graceful voice. "But you have been well protected lately."

That strikes me like a blow -- a slap across the face. Tears well up in my eyes. I let one of them roll down. Try with all my will-power to keep the others in. Succeed. Regain my emotional balance, and speak. "I-I am sorry, Professor!"

Now forgiven, he trusts that his voice will not harm me anymore. "It is alright, Sam." And he lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, and pats it twice before treating it.

I notice Scott suddenly shift on his own feet. Lets go of Jean's hand. "Professor, why would Apo--" catches himself, and looks at me with the most stricken and apologetic face I have ever seen on a man "--Why would he respect the protection you offer to Sam?"

The older man considers this, touching his hand to his chin, "Maybe he did not want to be discovered yet. While I might not be able to fight and win over him, I can certainly obtain certain information from him that he wouldn't otherwise wish me to know. Yes, I think that is it," the Professor then glances at me, "Do you think so too, Sam?"

The question catches me entirely by surprise. What would I know? I nod, out of things to say. He nods as well, and mutters to himself slightly. Old age catching on? This I may never know.

Another question for me, "Do you think you are all better now? Would you like to return to your room?" Asked Ororo.

Wolverine, who has not spoken up yet, snorts in contempt. I wish I could speak my mind: I do not have his healing abilities. But I fear those claws of his, and his short-fused temper. Ororo shoots him a reproving look. Maybe there is more between them that meets the eye. I had never thought... No matter.

"Yeah, I think so," I try to stand up, but my legs give out beneath me.

Suddenly I feel sick to my stomach, to the point of vomiting. Scott seems to realize it, and I see him walking to me briskly out of the corner of my eye. He lifts my arm gently and rests it upon his broad shoulders. I accept the help gladly and offer him a smile. He loses his train of thought, and composure for a minute, and smiles back. The exchange is rather simple, quick. But the fuzzy feeling it gives me perpetuates my smile as we make our way out of the room.

A few paces out of the infirmary, my nausea abates. I think he knows. I do not let go. He doesn't take his arm away from around my waist. We do not speak. My room's door appears. He opens it for me. I walk in, keeping up the show slightly to excuse the reliance.

"Show off," he mutters.

I turn around, and grin. We chuckle a little, share a laugh. The only words missing here are "Drama Queen." But is that bad? Don't think so. Neither does he, it seems. He's smiling as I turn around again and head towards my bed. I flop down on it, quite unceremoniously. He's still there, not moving. I look at him. He's looking at me. More uncomfortable silence. When will we be free to say it?

"Ah, Um, I-I gotta go, yeah," does he always stutter when he's nervous? "Later."

But he hurries out of my room before I can say it too.

Well, these last two days have been really momentous. So many things are suddenly stark and clear. Not in a good way. I think I begin to fear. Why me? Why me. I don't think even Xavier can answer that.

My thoughts return to Scott. Cyclops. Jean Grey's boyfriend. I know, it is wrong. But I cannot help it, it's like wildfire. Does he even feel the same for me? Hard to tell, he always leaves before he says anything stupid. If you don't count the stuttering stupid. No, I think it is rather cute.

I hope that at least the memory of his sweet smile will keep me nightmare-free tonight. Fat chance, I am never free.

~*~*~

_Why am I here? Who brought me here again! Professor!!_

_The closet again. The pictograms are glowing, fiery red. There's someone behind the door, on the other side. A gloved hand touches the door knob. I grab and hold fast to the other end. I think it's a he, trying to turn the knob. Won't-let-go!_

_He wins. The door swings open: a red and white clad teen. Flames all around him. He's smirking. I think he's insane. He reaches down for me. But he doesn't seem to want to hurt me. "Come on. There's nothing to fear. We're together now."_

_LET-ME-GO!_

~*~*~

Who's that screaming? It's me! I force myself to shut up just as the light comes on in my room. Scott's there, door swung wide open. Wild look on his eyes, ready to blast away whatever must be attacking me. I feel foolish.

"Are you ok?" He asks as other mutants appear at my door way. I recognize them. Kitty, Evans, Logan, Jean Grey.

I look towards Scott and nod, still too ashamed to speak.

"You sure? I heard you screaming, sounded like--"

"Oh, honey, he's fine. Right?" Jean Grey interrupts. Oops, was that glare of pure hatred too obvious?

"Yes," I tell her icily, "I'm fine. Just a bad dream."

The others file out of my room. Scott remains behind. Jean tugging at him slightly, not too obviously. I make a point of noticing it.

"It's okay, Scott," I smile at him as sassily as I can, "We can talk about it tomorrow. If you want." Poor guy, damn girl.

"Ok..." He allows Jean to pull him away, but before getting out of the door, he tells me, "Sleep tight."

I grin even wider than before. I think Jean sports an almost-hidden scowl as she pulls Scott away.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Chapter 3: Matters of the Heart

CHAPTER THREE: MATTERS OF THE HEART

Its morning now. I don't think I can live like this. Nightmares and possessions: it drains you. But the alarm insists that I should get off the bed. Off to school. I would go outside and get in line for the bathroom, as I often do. But I think the rumors of yesterday's episodes might have spread around. I do not want them looking at me like that again.

It's ok I have other methods of bathing. Strip down. Concentrate. Visualize water. Cascading down upon me. Ah, cold. Refreshing. A knock on the door! It opens!

I open my eyes, and almost die of fright. Scott is standing there, still in his jammies, like last night. He's frozen on the spot, face ten shades of bright red. I can't move either. Naked in the middle of my own room, within a few feet of anything to cover myself up. He's trying to talk, excuse himself and flee by the way he is motioning outside. The door is open! Overcoming my own fright, I stride over to the door and push it closed. In that rather sudden motion, he had no other choice but to step inside. Oh God, help me!

I then stride over to my bed and pick up my boxer shorts. And put them on. Better. I turn around to face him. He's still beet red.

"Scott," I say with slight amusement in my voice, "It's ok; we are all guys, right?"

"R-Right!" He exhales, and I wonder how long he was keeping that in. I can't help but to begin giggling, which causes him to frown slightly, "What? What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing." I hold my giggling long enough to say, "You are!" And resume laughing in earnest. I flop down on the bed again, clutching my sides to keep them from aching. Wow, this is becoming a repetitive pattern. Room. Bed. Room. Bed. I laugh harder.

He is beginning to catch on to the joke now and chuckles a few times himself. "Hey you, stop it. Not that funny!"

And before he knows what he is doing, he's pinning me down, straddling my hips, on top of me. I stop laughing immediately. Hormones kick into overdrive. Blush. My gaze strays up to meet his, directly above mine. He is once again frozen, on top of me. It is getting awkward now. I try to move away, but he is stronger than I am, and he has me pinned down. That only ends in the gyrating of my hips, which grind against his. We both blush deeply. But we don't move away. Don't want to, either.

"Did you come in here to tell me something?" The heated situation suddenly gets cold. "Or did you just wanna see me naked?" Saved the day!

He stutters, naturally. I grin. "I-I just wanted to tell you something I was told you tell you..." His voice trails away.

"Who told you to tell me what?" I ask sensually. Scott seems trapped in the sensual tone, not understanding the words. I giggle slightly, causing only more friction between our already aroused bodies. "Scott, who sent--" His mouth coves mine, I utter the last part of the sentence into his mouth. He's kissing me! I react and kiss him back. It's only a tender, innocent kiss. You'd think he never kissed Jean. Yuck, forget her!

He stops kissing, but doesn't pull away. Our lips stay locked together like that. As if all good things in existence was contained between our lips. And our lips together. As soon as my hands are released I wrap them tightly around his neck and pull him closer to me. Another kiss, more deep and passionate this time. I begin to wonder where I get the bravado. He kisses back. There's something of a need, a desire that seems to consume him. I get caught up in it, too. We're suddenly lost in each other. Our bodies rubbing against the other and stimulating ever nerve ending. The heat between us is hot enough to melt metal.

An imprudent knock on the door. The moment ruined. He realizes himself and jumps off me, backing away. A confused look on his face. He makes an effort to conceal his hardness; I do not as I lay on my own bed. He begins to breathe faster, afraid of being caught like this. I feel ashamed of dragging him into this. Another knock.

"Who is it?" I manage to croak out.

"It's me, Rogue," comes a southern twang from the other side.

"Yes?" I think she understands that the situation is sticky enough; she doesn't have to come in.

"I'm sorry if I am interrupting," she must have zapped the Professor, seems psychic. "But the Professor sent me to tell you that he needs to talk to you, as soon as possible."

"Ok," I say, wondering what the old man wants. "Thanks a lot Rogue!"

"No prob," she says as she walks down the hall in the general direction of the dining room, for breakfast.

I stand up, still not concealing my erection. Walk over to Scott, looking straight into his eyes all the time, through his glasses. I know he's looking at mine. "It's alright. That's what you came in for?" He nods. "Alright. As soon as you are ready, go down and tell the Professor I will be there shortly. Gotta dress up."

He starts to speak, an apology by the tone of it. But I place a finger on his lips. It is followed by a quick kiss on the lips. Then I retreat to my bed and start to dress up. I hear the door opening and closing. He left. I sigh.

~*~*~

I make sure I dress with my best clothes today. I feel like dressing up.

Usually, I wear plain, all black clothes -- gothic. Today I add an extra inch and a half to my five-eights in height with gothic style high-heels boots. I wear some pants that I saw not too long ago on sale, black too. I add some silver skulls belt that I borrowed from Rogue a few days ago. We are friends, I think. The shirt I chose it to be tight and black leather, short sleeves and with some sort of fishnet stockings that cover the rest of my arms. I wonder where I got this item from, though.

I am naturally thin and with little muscle development -- always a plus with the gothic look. Materializing a long crystal mirror out of thin air, I look at myself from head to toe. Everything seems to fit today, even my usually unkempt medium length hair. I shoot myself a broad grin. Today, I am gonna break some expectations, and capture one very special heart.

On my way, I pass some students. They look at me with wide eyes. I shoot them a sexy grin. Not holding back today. I think they were Berserker and Iceman. Cool, they're hot! Together, huh? I sensor myself. Keep walking down to the dining room, where breakfast seems to be in full swing.

The moment I enter the through the door, all eyes turn on me. Some are shocked. Some grin at me, I think they always knew. One of the knowing ones is Rogue. She waves at me to sit next to her. I comply. Most of them are here now here, including the Professor and the older X-Men. So, I avoid looking at Scott as I pass him. As soon as I sit down, the hustle and bustle at the table resumes. Rogue comments excitedly in my ear. Yeah, we're friends.

Not too long afterwards, most of the students have left, including Wolverine. I think I scared him away with the shirt. I take this chance to look straight at the Professor and speak to him. "Professor, you sent me messages that you wanted to talk to me?"

He looks rather taken aback with my directness. "Yes, I did. But I would rather do so in private, if you don't mind." He returned to his hot mug of coffee. I did not lift my gaze from him, I knew he wasn't done. "And, would you like to stay home today? I can make an excuse for you."

I smirked, I know he noticed. "Sure."

Within less than fifteen minutes, everyone has left. I regret that I did not get a chance to say bye to Scott. But Jean was hugging him all for herself. Poor insecure girl.

I look out the window as the last car sped off. Scott's. She is riding with him. From here I can see the dining room. It's empty. The Professor must have gone to the office. I don't want to keep him waiting. I head the familiar way again. The door is half opened. I step inside. He's alone, thankfully. No one else to presence my past and its mysteries.

"Good morning, Sam," he says, looking me over. Rather unnatural of him.

"Mornin' Professor," replied as I took a seat to his right. "Yes, I did change my style. Do you approve?"

I know I have pinned him with a touchy subject, in more than one level. "It is not up to me to criticize." Case closed. Uncompromisingly.

"Alright. What do you want to talk about?"

He thinks about the best way to put it for a few seconds, and then says, "Last night you had a nightmare," seeing my look of surprise at his knowledge of this, he amended, "Scott told me. He was genuinely concerned."

I nod. "You would like me to tell you about it," it is more of a statement than a question. He nods. I continue, "I was back in the closet. Someone opened the door from outside. It was another guy, around my age, perhaps older. He didn't seem to want to hurt me."

"Can you recall how he looked?"

"Yeah, he was in some uniform. Not X-Men's. But had orange and reds. There were a lot of flames around him too."

I see recognition in his eyes, and wait for his explanation.

"Pyro. His real name is St. John Allerdyce -- one of Magneto's henchmen now. He's Pyrokinetic, hence the name. But why would he be in your dream, related to him?" He stops to think for another second. "Was there something else? Anything?"

"Umm, not exactly. Save for the fact that the pictogram was glowing fiery red..." I let my voice trail off, hoping this is what he wanted. He takes his time to deliberate. Thinks. His features showing of deep concentration.

Professor Xavier looks up at me. "I think it is only fair that I tell you what I have found myself."

I agree silently, and wait for him to resume his speech. He is looking for the best way to put it, I know.

"Throughout our history, many things have come in groups of four. Most commonly known, are the four elements of nature, according to mystics. Air, Earth, Fire and Water. There are separate gods for each of these. Some cultures have placed more emphasis on them than on other forces of everyday life. But in the Middle Ages there was a specific belief in a group of four individuals called the Four Horsemen. I have come across interesting theories, though few fail to hit exactly upon reality. More conjecture than anything. What is clear is that stories and legends abound that tie him up to a group of four individuals. I fear that he will now call to his side a similar arrangement. Chosen from the multitude for their exceptional control of the said four elements."

I must look shocked, bewildered. The Professor sees this, and reassures me silently with a look of sympathy. I can understand perfectly what he means. I am a water elemental mutant. My specialty is the control of water. And as far as I know, and he knows, I am guessing, I am unique in the world. Suddenly the whole world is pressing down on me. It no longer wishes to sustain my life. It wants to crush me for what I am chosen to do. But, I doubt I will give into. Fear ebbs at me from the shadowy corners of my mind. He senses this.

"Do not be afraid, Sam. Fear is what he uses to control you. You must be afraid. We are all your friends, allies. I hope you can see that if you let us help you, we can overcome this."

But his words are empty, and he knows it. For he is not even powerful enough to even protect me anymore. He is out in the wide world, free. He calls for his minions. I react to the call. I am lost now. Lost.

~*~*~

The rest of the day I spend walking around the mansion grounds. It is empty. The grass was drenched with dew in the morning. It is drenched again in the afternoon by a storm. No lightening. Just water falling down upon me. Washing away whatever fears the world might think I feel.

Ever since the conversation with the Professor this morning, I have roamed around. Exchanging consolation with nature. I think she feels what I feel in this insecure hour. I feel her pain too. Nature can already foretell a time where its grounds will be bloodied. The blood of her children, spilt upon it. The air shall be polluted with gun-smoke and burning flesh, rotting flesh. And its waters, oh its dear waters, will be the color of blood. For it shall be blood.

The rain has stopped, I notice as I come out of my silent reverie. It must be around midday now. The sun, being softly unveiled by the clouds, struggles to shine high up in the sky. It knows its face too: covered by black clouds. Endless.

I am drenched in rain water. But I do not mind. It is my element. I have always felt it this way, like a second self. Ever since my baptism, in that grand cathedral mother used to go. I remember it. Great stained glass windows. The lives and woes of the saints and martyrs portrayed on them. The fancy of its architectural style flattered me. It beckoned me too. I felt it was indeed a holy place. A safe haven.

The priest poured the holy water upon my head, from the little fountain in the altar. I felt it sting, but then sooth. It blessed me; I liked to think back then, with a good and great power. To do good. To be good. I daydreamed and fantasized about that power from then on. A solitary play of wizards fighting the good fight. Magic unleashed. Nature at my command.

I wonder if the Professor ever fantasized about his telepathy. What about Scott? Maybe I would never know. I make my way to a back door that enters directly to the kitchen. Before I go in, I once again notice my state. Dripping wet from the rain. With the wave of a hand all unnecessary moisture is gone from my clothes. They stay cool and refreshing on my skin. I walk in. Open the fridge, and take out a pint bucket of ice cream. I sit on the table and begin to scoop out spoonfuls. I eat straight from it. It will all be downed.

I keep thinking. Can't stop thinking. The mansion is quiet, which is good. Think. What will my life be like now? How could I possibly live with the knowledge that anytime I might turn against these people. They have been so kind to me. Accepted me, I think. How could I live with this in front of Scott? He matters to me. This morning showed me that. I think I matter to him, too. Could I tell him? Would he understand? Too many questions.

Some of the ice cream has melted, and formed a puddle in the spoon's curved surface. Liquid. Water. That is my element. That is my curse. By it, so many have died. People I have cared about. Others I have not. But that doesn't mean their demise makes me feel any better. On the contrary, I feel worse. My curse. My unique mutation. The power that, when unleashed, can kill so many so quickly. Not even the screams of pain and horror of my dear mother could have stopped it. Once stirred, water is relentless.

A car swings around the cul-de-sac. By the sound of it, it is one of the student's. My thoughts are now back to reality and my surroundings. Steps up the stairs to the front door. The door swings open. From here I can hear who it is. Scott. I brace myself to retreat into the solitude of my room. At least, four of the other perky teens are coming with him, for sure. But not this time. He's alone. And early too. I notice.

He looks both ways, first the other, and then in my direction. Sees me sitting here with the ice cream bucket. Walks over to me.

"Hey," he greets me. He can't hide the nervousness in his voice, as much as he might. Scott wants to talk to me about something. "How're you doing?" Easy and slow. That is his way.

"Alright," my voice betrays me. Have I come to trust him this much?

He noticed, it is obvious that I do not look well at all. So, my eyes have betrayed me too. I wish I could run away into my room, lock the door. Away.

"Must be really cool staying home, all day long," he pushes the subject a little. I look up at him, standing by the seat next to mine. He's afraid to come any closer. Uneasy. When will we be free to say it?

"No, it's boring," I retort. No smile. Just a miserable look in my face. It screams, begs and supplicates to be saved from this Hell. My life.

He doesn't say anything more. Perhaps he doesn't know what else to say? But I can read him, and his actions. He shifts from one foot to the other. His brows are slightly furrowed behind those glasses. His eyes, I know, are looking at me with deep concern. I remain seated, looking up at him. He takes the queue and takes the chair next to mine.

Surprises me. Places his hand upon mine, and gives it a little squeeze of reassurance. "You can tell me. We can talk about anything, if you like."

I cannot hold it. All of it, save perhaps the more gory parts, come out into the light. Out for him to see, plainly. No more subtle hints. No more secrets, well hidden as they were. I talk, mainly. He listens. And understands. I love him, now, and for that alone. His hand never leaves mine. Now and then, as I choke on my emotions, a finger strokes one of mine. It seems involuntary. But natural, too.

I finish, it's been almost half an hour. He hasn't said anything. We don't need words anymore. So close we are now. All of this emotion has made me crave for his arms around me. To comfort me, nothing more. Perhaps more. I don't know. But we stay away, only our hands touching. Only they being allowed the gift of physical contact, friction. Heat and warmth. And I dare think, love.

We are looking at each other. I realize something I have missed all along. Those glasses of his. They are his prison. He wants to escape it. But can't. Because if he did, only destruction would result. Death, too, perhaps? I know that more than anything, he wants to see without their ruby tint. He wants to see the world in its full glory. And most of all, Scott Summers wants to let people see his eyes. No one knows. No one can afford a peek at his soul. And he craves that. More than anything, he wishes to be free. In so many levels.

I do not feel pity for him. Nor for myself. Compassion is closer to the mark. But even closer is Love. Understanding. Caring. Need. We are so different, yet here we are. In perfect co-existence and trust. We need each other. More than one way.

I lean in close to him. He leans forward. Our lips meet. The innocence of this morning's first kiss is not here. Here is need. Craving. Hunger. Passion beyond bounds. A kiss that no one else could give him, because no one else understands him. There's no need for air, or to breath. Our lips meet in a sensuous, intimate dance. They rejoice. Our bodies attempt to annihilate this distance between us. But the chairs have arm-rests. Damn them. But it proves to be little of an obstacle, as we climb. On top of the chairs. On top of the table even. Our bodies seeking each other out like opposite fields. Finding each other, a perfect fit. Our love pours out from the both of us, here on this table, kneeling before each other. Somehow at the same level, perfect match. Hands roam. Emotions overflow. A moan of passion. Need. But--

"SCOTT!"

We disengage; whirl around to find none other than Jean Grey. He can't help it. His prison holds him back, claims him back into their confines. Gasping, he swiftly gets off the table and stands guiltily on the floor, next to her. I hate her.

Now I notice the others. All of them. The students that live here in the mansion have returned, and are standing paralyzed. Looking at me, still on the table, and then at Scott, beet red, and almost shaking with guilt. I wipe away the shocked look on my face, and climb down the table, to the opposite end. I will myself to look daring, defiantly at her. After all, she could never understand him. I do.

There are moments of deeply uncomfortable silence. Scott regains his composure. Takes Jean by the arm, and leads her away. The other students, muttering feverishly, begin to empty the area. They look totally shocked. Some, like Kitty pride, do not hide their looks of disgust. Rogue stays behind. My friend. She was shocked at the beginning, but now it has begun to sink in.

An evil smirk plays along her face. "So that's what you were doing this morning..." Her tone is jovial, but I know she realizes the trouble that is brewing now. She understands, however. And she lets me know with a gentle if not awkward pat on my back. She too is a prisoner of herself. Her skin, like Scott's eyes, is deadly. But she is my friend, nothing more. Scott's more, much more.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	4. Chapter 4: Dysfunctional

CHAPTER FOUR: DYSFUNCTIONAL

The two of us -- Rogue and I -- make our way upstairs, to our different rooms. A day of rest, right? Wrong.

Wolverine intercepts us midway. "Hurry, get your suits on!" What? Is he talking to me too? "You've got practice in ten minutes. Go on!" And he stalks away towards the general direction of the Danger Room. I pity the fool who stands in his way.

One more thing to think about. I am all the sudden included in a training session. That's usually for the X-Men, or wannabe X-Men. I am neither. I am just a mutant with a lot of problems. I can't think about this properly now, too much going on. Rogue reminds me of Wolverine's temper and I sulk away into my own room. The last thing I need is physical training.

As soon as I get there, I notice a folded black and blue uniform. Gently on my bed. I look at it with shock. So, it's true, I've been included. Don't know whether to feel excited or worried. Within minutes I am dressed up. It is a one-piece uniform. So it was a little confusing at first. But now that it is on, it looks rather appropriate. Full-body. Black. With downward streaking waves of blue. It fits over my slender form like a glove. And I can't help but to wonder how the Professor knew my exact size.

No matter. I get out of my room, and stride down the hall towards the Danger Room. It feels awkward, to be walking this way. I usually avoid it. It would break the practiced role of the outcast. And then my true nature would spill out. And so would my secrets. But they are out, already. Aren't they? Unfortunately, yes. As I pass a few students lingering on the doors, I notice the dirty looks they throw at me.

This only emboldens me. I walk more purposely, chin held high. Proud. And I stumble upon someone else, shorter. Stockier too. Snikt! I freeze.

"Watch where you're walking, kid," he snarls at me. Does he know about the incident a few minutes now? With that hearing of his, I wouldn't doubt it.

I look apologetically at Wolverine, "S-Sorry sir!"

His grunt is all the answer I get, and then walks away. Claws retract.

I look around. There are only a few people here. Maybe they all hate me too. There goes the freak. They must be thinking. However, I am surprised by someone waving a hand at me. It's Rogue, along with a group of girls. I think one of them is called Magma. There's also another that I have only heard about before: Boom-Boom. They greet me warmly, handling me like porcelain. I greet them back half-heartedly. Off handedly, I wonder what Boom-Boom, who broke away from the X-Men a while ago, is doing back here. I do not comment on it, but let their mindless chatter pass over me.

Within five minutes most of the students are present here now. I am still in limbo, distracted by my own musings. Truthfully, I am avoiding any sort of thought as much as possible.

"Hey! Sam, are you listening?" That's Rogue. I jump back into the real world. Notice them all looking at me with expectant faces.

"Um, no. What did you say?"

"Gosh, you ok?" She is worried now.

"Yeah," I try to sound as self-possessed as I can. Fail. "Just. What were you saying before?"

"Oh," she turns to not-so-discreetly point at a boy hanging around other boys. "See Bobby Drake. There?"

I nod, "What about him?"

"Gay, too. Closet-case, though." Says Magma.

I look sharply at her. Offended. She seems put off by it. I apologize. "I'd rather not think about that now."

Thankfully, Wolverine stalked past us again. The door to the Danger Room opened, and we went all inside. I kept my guard up, not knowing what to expect.

I noticed neither Scott nor Jean are here. I begin to wonder jealously what is going on.

~*~*~

Between flying blades, zapping guns, compressing walls, hurling things, and all the other half of madness, I was kept very much on my toes. Some of the mutants were tagged in various stages of the training session. Somehow, I managed to stay afloat. No pun intended.

Now only Rogue, Shadowcat, Magma, Nightcrawler, Spike, and that Berserker and of course, me, are standing. More like running around like madmen and madwomen. Dodging this and that. Putting this blaster out here. Or punching this other hole through a solid wall. I have had a most grueling time, and am already spent. But I must go on. I do not want to do badly on my first session. Now and then Wolverine's voice appears on the intercom. Announcing a notch up in the difficulty level. I think we are already up to level five.

A big boulder appears out of nowhere, twice the size of a man. Rolling towards Rogue as she dodges another damned blaster. "Rogue! Watch out!" I warn her. But she can't move as she is trapped by a freakishly spiky wall. I rush over to her as fast as I can. But the boulder goes faster and faster, as if downhill. I won't be able to make it. Almost without thinking about it, I jump high over a blaster, kick it. It dissolves. I do not notice and keep going. She's desperately looking for a way out, but there's none. I hope Wolverine can stop this nightmare before it gets serious.

Somehow, I manage to do another great jump in the air and flip over the spiky wall. I land exactly between her and the boulder. There's no time to waste. I reach out my hands, as if to stop the boulder with my own failing physical strength. As if. But a few seconds pass. Nothing. It should have squashed me by now. I open my eyes tentatively, afraid of seeing it coming at me still. But there is nothing there. Only a huge puddle of mercurial liquid on the floor.

Everything stops suddenly. The whizzing and whirling of gears and power stops too. "Session's over. Good work everyone!" That is Storm's voice over the intercom.

I am still shocked. Doing nothing but to stare at the mass of molten, yet not hot, liquid. Suddenly I am jerked back to reality as Rogue swings her arms around my neck from behind me. She hugs me so tight; I think she might be trying to kill me. Or is terrified at the near-miss? But no, she is laughing. She's happy. What have I done? I don't know. But I expect the Professor to explain this to me soon enough. I feel happy nonetheless. Now I can proudly wear one of those cookie-doopie shirts saying, "I Survived The Danger Room!" As if!

All of us, at least the guys, march down the hall and into the bathrooms, to get a quick shower and wash away the sweat. Refresh. As I come to the bathroom's door, I realize that I naturally avoid it when it is being used, like now. Kurt, who had been walking behind me, pats me on the shoulder. "Ah, come on! Don' ve shy!" He giggles a little, but I know it is good-natured. The fuzzy-elf, as he calls himself, has never hurt a fly.

Slowly, I push open the door into the spacious bathroom. More than one shower stall, all decently covered. There's enough for all four of us. I chose the one in the corner, with one in between the others. I will the water to flow, the pressure within the pipes turning the settings, just as I like it. Not too cold, not too hot. Smooth and silky. Refreshing and at the same time cleansing. My water manipulation powers have always been an advantage in this area. I take the shampoo and begin lathering my hair. Lots of foam and bubbles, I like that too.

"Yeah, she looked so mad. I thought that she'd kill them!" I hear a faint murmur slither its way to my stall. That was Evans.

"Kill him, not Scott. He's the faggot!" Berserker speaks up, not minding being overheard. I stay morbidly glued to the conversation. "Even showering here in the same bathroom makes me sick!"

"Come on, guys. It's not our problem. Let them deal with it," Kurt tried to smooth things over. There is a long pause. Neither of them talks.

"Whatever. I think I hate him now. Before I thought he was a freak. He still is. An even bigger freak than before!" A string of curses and names pour out of the kid's mouth. I flush with anger. Without knowing it, I reach over to the only portion of the shower pipes that stick out. Touch it. And send my silent command to make Berserker's water extra hot. Almost boiling. He screams in pain as it makes contact with him. I smirk.

After finishing my own shower, a bit ahead of them, I turn off the water. Wrap the towel securely around my waist, and get out of the stall. As I comb my medium length, jet black hair, I hear one of them finish up too. I don't mind. Don't care. But my lack of attention costs me dearly. Someone grabs me by the left shoulder and whips me around to face them. It is Berserker. He reaches back, aims, and punches me in the face.

"That's for screwing around with my water, you fag!" He lets me go and I lean back against the wall. "What do you think you were doing? Wanted to see me naked? You fucking fag! You little bitch!" He goes on. Another string of curses. Or maybe the same ones, but arranged differently.

Once again I get mad. And as my cheek begins to throb in pain, I get even madder. How could that be possible? I am always so calm and pacific. Doesn't matter. The power is already coursing through my veins. Flushing my skin, draining it of color. And onto the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. Everything is suddenly coated with a layer of water. It is steaming too. Drops begin to fall. One. Two. Three. The fourth making contact with Berserker. It doesn't only burn him, it slashes him. Drops that boil, and cut. Like little solidifying crystals. Sharp ones too. He screams once more, as more and more drops fall on his bare torso. They slash away as his skin, blood trickling down. Could this be? Am I enjoying his pain?

Suddenly it stops, I don't know why. I've been lost in something like a trance again. But this time it was me. Wasn't it always not me?

The reason the torture stopped steps into the bathroom, hurrying over to Berserker. Tells Kurt to take him to the Professor immediately. Looks at me with bewildered eyes. Afraid? Maybe. I am a monster, after all. An abomination. Can't help the nervous chuckle that escapes me. Turns into uncontrollable laughter. It must sound wrong, evil, because his face ashen.

"Sam, what have you done? Sam!" It's Scott! I jolt back to reality, my idiotic laughter stops. I look at him with fear in my eyes. I begin to sob uncontrollably again. "Oh, no," is all he says. Takes me into his arms. I can't move properly. It's like I have turned into dead-weight. Seeing this, he picks my whole body up in his arms. Those strong arms... And carries me away.

~*~*~

"Professor, are you sure? Isn't he going through enough already?"

"I am not sure, Scott. But what else can we do? He's too out of control. Anything sets him off. You saw how bad it can turn."

"I know. But-- But, isn't there something we can do to help? Other than throwing him out like a dog?"

A pause. I stay motionless, breathing deeply. Seemingly fast asleep after hours of endless tears and sobbing. I don't usually cry. But when I do all my pressed emotions tend to ebb away from me in the form of tears. I wait and listen.

"What do you propose?"

"Um, ah. Well, I could help him. He seems to come to, when I am around."

"You really care for him, don't you?" That was Ororo's serenely deep voice.

Scott doesn't answer. From what I hear, he shuffles around on his feet nervously. I wait excitedly. This might be the answer that I've been waiting for. Or it might not. Might just be another loss.

"I don't know," less than favorable, but he goes on, "I am not sure, anymore."

"Listen, kid." Wolverine's gruff voice. "If you want to get into this mess, you better make up your mind. It is hard enough that you are a mutant. You're not making sense. Decide." He can't bring himself to mentioning it. Maybe the stocky, clawed man really does care about us all?

More silence. They are not relenting, either.

"I care about him," Scott states with some difficulty. It is talking to adults about it that makes it difficult. "But I am confused. One moment all I want to do is be with him--" a short grunt from Wolverine, I don't think he'll ever warm up to the idea "--but Jean..."

I myself could not give a damn about Jean, or Logan for that matter. Right now I glow with glee. My excitement is too much, however. It is quickly noticed by the Professor, ever quiet and observant.

"Ah, I see you are awake, Sam," he says in the most off-handed way ever. I wonder if he forgets to be tactful, or just an immensely perverted sense of humor.

I make a show of waking up. Stretch. Yawn. Open my eyes and look around, unfocussed. "Why are you all here?" I ask just as off-handedly as the Professor, with an extra ounce of innocence too.

They look at me with disbelieving eyes. Storm obviously wonders if I should rather look into getting a career as an actor. Or does she thing I'd be better as an actress? Logan is shaking his head slightly. No doubt impressed at my skills. The Professor grins knowingly. And when I look to Scott, standing a few feet away, he looks rather embarrassed. No one's fooled, but the show must go on.

"You do remember what happened, right?" The Professor intones.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have gotten so mad at him. But he was--"

"No need to excuse, we know the full story," He interrupts. "I want to talk to you later, when you feel you are more up to it. I warn you, you are forbidden to use your powers for anything." His tone is even, but stern.

I nod sheepishly.

"We'll be around," says Storm as she hands me a communicator. "Call us if you need anything."

And they leave. Except Scott. He stays, still blushing furiously. Even nervous now that they are gone. I wait for him to say something. After a pause, he speaks up.

"H-How much of that did you hear?"

I try to look genuinely innocent. But I am not fooling anyone. Not him, at any rate. It does bring a dramatic grin to his face. I like it and smile back.

"Not much. How do you plan to help?" Subtly letting him know what I did hear.

He blushes again, but the grin stays on. "I don't know, yet. But we'll figure it out."

For some reason that made my heart skip a beat. He was including me as part of it. Of course, I am part of it. But the way he says it is precious.

"Scott," I look at him straight in the eye, I can feel them on myself. "I care about you too. A lot."

He smiles broadly now. "Oh, and I thought you were just using me to get off!" He mutters in mock-indignation. We laugh together again, heartedly. I take the chance to reach out and intertwine my hands with his. He looks at them, and then at me. I can tell he's struggling with what he's going to say next. He shouldn't really, I already know. I can tell by the way he is breathing. His hands are sweating, nervously. But he holds on tight. There's warmth in that clasp too. I know already. But he has to tell me. To tell himself. I don't mind listening to the glaringly obvious. "Oh, Sam, I love you!"

It's my turn now. I do not need to say it. But he needs to hear it. So I will say it, for him and no one else. I will tell -- and show -- him how much I love him. Forever.

~*~*~

There were no nightmares tonight. Only bliss.

In the morning I wake up happier than ever. Feeling better than ever. Scott, sleeping soundly besides me, doesn't even notice when I slip out of bed and head to the bathroom. No one's around, though I think I can hear voices below. I don't even care.

I prepare a hot bubble bath for myself, and lay down on the tub. Relax. I feel so happy. Finally, we can be together. Last night we admitted it to each other. In more than one way. Now, nothing can stop us. Not even a jealous Jean. Try as she might.

Relax. I let go of my worries. It is easy to do; I have so little of them left. Love has helped me heal my old wounds. I am at rest with the ghosts of the past. But for all I know, they can still be lurking in the shadows. Waiting for their chance to strike me down, when I least expect it. A moment's weakness, and...

There's a knock on the door. I give a start and cause the water to stir. The bathroom's door opens, and closes. I can only perceive a man's figure standing, looking about. The design of the crystal door that covers the bathtub in the corner does not allow me to see anything. I hold my breath, and prepare for battle--

"Sam?" I relax once more, it is Scott. "Are you here?"

"Yes. Here." Scott walks over to the glass doors around the bathtub. Unsure of whether to open them or not. "You can come in, if you like," I intone with my most musical and seductive voice.

He slides the door open and pokes his face in, sporting a big grin.

"Did you sleep well?" I ask him.

He nods and then crouches besides me in the bath. "Right until I woke up. To the Professor's voice." He made a face of mild disgust -- so cute!

"Aw, baby!" I tease; he smirks. "I actually planned to be back by the time you woke up."

"It's ok..."

"So, what did the Professor want?"

"To talk to you. Same thing he said last night." The thought of it triggers a memory in him, I notice that. He smiles indulgently.

I smile too, but my voice remains rather serious. "Will you be there with me? Or am I gonna be all alone?"

"Yeah, I'm coming--" I make a mock look of surprise, and gasp loudly "--I mean! I am coming with you. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"Sure. And like yours is not!" We become serious for a moment. I lean in close for a quick kiss, and pull away before he tries to kiss back. "Not now," I breathe, our lips barely touching, "Later."

I stand up from the bath and he stands up with me. I make my way past him, careful not to make contact with him.

I tease him playfully again, "You need a bath!" I say with mock-disgust.

He takes the queue and plays along. Strips.

I look him over and continue. "There's my baby!" I move closer to him, place both hands on those broad shoulders -- lightly speckled. "Good boy, now, sit!" Allowing for minimal contact, I push him down onto the bathtub and close the glass door behind him. Towel wrapped around my waist I exit the bathroom, onto the hall surreptitiously... I am truly happy today.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	5. Chapter 5: Cornered & Rushed

CHAPTER FIVE: CORNERED AND RUSHED

We enter the Professor's office hand-in-hand. My usual gothic look is complimented with a black and scarlet, skin-tight shirt. Over it I wear a black denim jacket with visible red stitching. Denim pants go with it too, same design as the jacket. Scott wears his casual beige khaki pants. With a short sleeved, red-and-navy-stripped shirt. It matches with his perpetual shades. It also matches with me.

The other senior members of the X-Men are also gathered in the office. Professor X, in suit as usual, sits in the center. Beast, or Hank, stands awkwardly to his left. He's an impressive man. Brawns and brains! Not my type, though. Storm, oddly in her battle costume, stands to the Professor's right. Wolverine, also in costume, sits on a couch to the far end of the room. Windows all around throw golden streaks of sunlight upon us. I feel comfortable and relaxed. These people are friends, just older.

"Good morning, you two," greets the Professor, after having stopped the conversation as we came in. "Please, sit down," and motions towards twin cushioned chairs in front of his desk. We take the seats after saying our greetings to the other X-Men. Never releasing each other's hands.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

He looks at me, slightly affronted by my directness. "There have been new developments." A small pause in which he subtly glances around the room. They seem to know about it already. "Ever since what happened in London, Magneto has kept in contact with me. He has his ways." He informs us secretively when I shoot him a puzzled look. "I told him about your dream, two nights ago. I am sorry if I breached your confidence. But he had to know. He did not exactly confirm my worries -- that Pyro might be one of the other Horsemen--" there, the name is coined now; he continues "--but he gave me enough hints as to arrive at the conclusion that he now suspects it, too."

He takes a momentary break from his speech. The others around the room nod, confirming this much. My hands are beginning to sweat now. I am starting to get nervous about what might be revealed today.

"Today, early in the morning, I decided to use Cerebro to scan for Pyro. Find out more about him -- his past, his state of mind. What I found is rather alarming. It seems he is very unbalanced, has many issues. I think it might be obvious to anyone who has fought him before, but he is a pyromaniac. Coupled with those powers of his, he can become a deadly foe." He stops again. What could be so difficult to say? I wait impatiently. Scott squeezes my hand slightly, reminding me to check my temper.

The Professor continues, "As you know, I cannot read Magneto's mind. But I can read the minds of the Acolytes -- his elite followers now. While tracking Pyro, I found out that Magneto has sent them on a secret mission, except Pyro. It seems Magneto wants to keep him close, or away from whatever they are undertaking. Even my own powers have limits, which means I could not find out where, or for what they were sent. But I did find out something else. Pyro has other plans in mind. He's already under his control..." He stops for a while, letting the meaning sink in. "I know what he plans to do. He wants to -- has been ordered to -- kill Magneto."

Scott and I freeze on the spot. The immensity of it leaves us breathless, speechless. But Magneto is one of the most powerful mutants on Earth! How can Pyro hope to defeat and kill him? He must be delusional, deranged because of whatever misery he has gone through. Misfortunes upon misfortunes, like myself.

The Professor reads my mind without prompting, "While he is mentally unstable, I do not think he is foolishly rushing into this. As I said, he has a plan. Maybe this is irrelevant at the moment, but I sensed another presence near Pyro. He, I assume, is influencing him. I believe that he has offered his assistance and is willing to carry out the plan together."

This causes a stir even among the others. Seemingly, they do not know of his yet, it is new to them. I wonder why the Professor has chosen to hold this back until now. Until I arrived. The information that Magneto's life is in danger is mind boggling enough. Scott, however, seems to be catching on. I can see it in his face; his mental gears are turning fast, processing the information and its portents. I look with even greater puzzlement at the Professor.

But it is Storm who speaks instead. "Could it be Mesmero, Charles?" She uses his first name, which neither I nor the other students ever use, out of respect.

"No, I would have recognized him if it were."

A pause. I am still lost. Perhaps I just don't want to face the obvious, nagging at the back of my thoughts?

"It's another Horseman," Wolverine finally states it. There is an overall false pretence of showing alarm and surprise.

I hold my breath, close my eyes, wishing that it were not true. That when I open my eyes again, it will all have been a dream. Scott holds my hand tighter, affording all the comfort he can give me in this situation. I turn to look at him. His face shows he arrived at that conclusion too. They all have. Echoes of my nightmares return to haunt me. But only momentarily. Scott saves me again.

"Who could it be?" His voice alone can stabilize me.

"I do not know," Professor Xavier's voice carries a hint of frustration. "He seems to be rather able at blocking out minds that he does not want to intrude. Much alike fully-evolved mutants. But he's there nonetheless."

"Why are you telling us this? Other than keeping us informed," Scott's voice is suspicious now. I begin to wonder about the Professor's intentions, now.

"I want you two to join us--" his hand sweeps along the three, older mutants "--in a mission to stop them from killing Magneto." A simple statement, but carrying more weight than it initially lets on.

"What?!" Wolverine jumps to his feet, fists clenched. It appears he had not discussed this with them previously. "Have you lost your mind? Magneto's our enemy!" Is he whining?

"Logan, restrain yourself!" Only after Wolverine has calmed back down, and retaken his seat at the couch, does the Professor continue, "Yes, he was our enemy. But over these two days we have talked he has expressed a sincere wish to join efforts against Apoc-- against him." He almost said the name, he almost compromised my own sanity. "I believe him. I trust him because I know him. Though his heart has grown cold towards humanity in general, he has the best interests in mind for mutant-kind."

Logan grunts. Even if he has accepted that fact, he would never admit it. Storm slowly walks over to his sofa, and sits near him. She places her hand on his, which seemingly calms him down. I look at them with some confusion, but mostly mild amusement. She notices and smiles candidly.

Scott speaks again, "But Professor, can't Magneto handle himself?"

"He can. But we do not know anything about the other Horseman's powers. And if he is fully-evolved, as I fear..."

Silence settles in the room. I am lost in thought. Just when I begin to get comfortable in life, it takes a nasty turn. I do not like this. None of this settles well with me. By the looks of it, neither does it settle well with the others. But what other choice do we have? We must go to help Magneto. The X-Men cannot afford to lose such an ally this early in the game. I catch myself thinking like this. Inwardly I shake my head. Where's the outcast role I had lived with all this time? Replaced by love. The answer comes quite unexpectedly, as Scott tightens his hold on my hand.

I come out of my silent reverie. Suddenly I realize they are all looking fixedly at me, waiting for my answer to something I do not recall hearing.

"I'm sorry. Did I miss something?"

"Yes. We have all agreed to go. Do you want to come with us too?"

It is an option. Do I go? It is a difficult choice to make. Truth be told, I do not particularly care much about Magneto. But I am involved in this, I know that. Pyro is a Horseman. I saw him in a dream. And now he has been approached by another one of -- of us? I shudder to think that I am one of them. Last night, and today, has proven to me that destiny is not fixed. I have found myself in the love of another. No, I am not one of them. I am myself: Hydro.

"Yeah, I'll go." It seems they were all waiting for my answer. Suddenly the room bursts into movement and purpose. Wolverine and Storm exit to prepare the X-Jet. Beast excuses himself to gather something for the mission. Scott doesn't move from his seat, he will be leaving with me, I know. The Professor stays, studying me. He does not probe my mind. Is it a new measure of respect for me?

I know little of the path I have chosen, just now. Perhaps I already knew it would sooner or later come to this. I am here in this mansion, where one of the most promising forces of the world lives. There might be contempt and arguments between some of us. But we are still a family. And families look out for each other. That is why I am now compelled to go. That is why they include me. But there's more. There is always a hidden meaning, a second aim. They help me, as I help them. I serve them, as I serve my own needs. And now that I have found peace, I am willing to fight to keep it. Love has made me stronger, to face whatever my future holds.

Suddenly I understand. We all have a choice, between good and evil. No one can ever be made to do something against their will. But sometimes, we fight against either choice. We fight because we fear the outcome. And in choosing either way, we might be signing our own death-sentence.

~*~*~

After changing into my uniform, I make my way down to the hangar where the X-Jet is kept. I have always been fascinated about the mighty aircraft. Its sleek metallic black body. Wings folding forwards, instead of backwards as it is the conventional style. The hint of raw power and versatility always takes my breath away. Today, however, it is one more thing that brings me uneasiness. Fate is rushing to meet me, I can feel it.

The doors open for me, and inside I can see part of the X-Men already assembled. Everyone that was in the meeting this morning is present. Plus, the Professor has asked Nightcrawler and Rogue to join us. They wave at me. I wave back. I can see Storm in the cockpit already, moderating the controls to start up the plane. Wolverine waits impatiently just inside the of it, besides the Professor. He waves us in and takes his own seat next to Storm. The rest of us go inside.

I am the last one to board the plane. Professor Xavier is waiting for me there. His face is still concerned, I could almost say brooding. He doesn't seem to believe that I am up the challenge yet. I give him a slight nod as I pass him, reassuring him without words that I am indeed ready. Fate must not be ignored.

Scott is waiting for me inside, already seated. His calmed face is a mask for the concern he feels. I know. There's an empty seat beside him, I suppose it is for me. I take it, and throw a weak smile sideways at him. He tries his best to smile, but it twitches into a minute frown. It only lasts a second -- less. He's intent in appearing outwardly strong. His way of giving me support. Once I have my seat-belt on, he reaches across the distance between us and takes me hand in his. I feel a pang of guilt, and shame at the same time. I move him so. His actions also move me. But they only make me more secure in my conviction that I must go. I must.

The plane starts on its way. The miracle of flight is achieved. We're up in the air, heading towards our destination. I look at them. This is just another mission for them. Perhaps to some it is a challenge to overcome their egos, accept the much needed help in this time of crisis. To others a golden opportunity to join forces with old friends -- torn apart by the very same Fate that rushes us together. I will face my future now, in just a few minutes. And when I stand before Fate, who knows what will be the final verdict.

~*~*~

We land in a deserted part of town. In front of a seemingly abandoned warehouse. As the engines slow down to nothing, I sense the Professor's mind casting a telepathic net around the entire area. Wolverine sniffs the air.

"Yes, Pyro is here," he answers our unspoken question. My heart sinks.

"So is Magneto," Wolverine can pick up his scent. Don't know how. "There are two others--" sniffs again this direction and there "--Mesmero. And another."

"Yes, I second that."

We all wait for the sensory perception show to come to an end.

Wolverine stands up from his pilot's seat, turns to face us, "Cyclops, Beast, and the Elf will go in through left. Hydro and Rogue will go with the Professor, through the front." I look at the squat building again; the right side is joined to another warehouse. "Storm and I will surprise them from above."

Orders given, we move out.

I watch as Nightcrawler teleports Scott and Beast away, they disappear in a puff of stinky smoke. The three of us -- Rogue, the Professor, and I -- edge slowly and cautiously towards the big metal doors in the front. Supposedly a truck would unload its cargo here. There's a slope where the Professor's wheelchair can go up.

The doors present something of a challenge. I remember the dissolving trick I performed on the boulder in the training session. Put my bare palms on the ridged metal doors, and will it to liquefy. A hole at least six feet in diameter peels back. I look back at my two companions, they nod in approval. Before I bring my attention to the dimly lit insides of the warehouse, I notice Storm causing the winds to lift her and Wolverine onto the roof. I grin; there must definitely something between those two.

Rogue silently volunteers to sneak inside and take a look.

"Coast is clear," she whispers to us over the intercoms. We move inside.

It takes little time to get used to the dimness. There's no one around. We exchange puzzled looks. Nervousness encroaches upon me. Bamf. Scott and Nightcrawler and Beast are here. I steal a quick look to my left. They are at least ten yards away from us.

"Nothing out there. Nothing in here either?" His hushed voice crackles slightly on the intercoms. It has a calming effect on me.

The Professor visibly shakes his head in response.

"Vhat's going on?" Our very thoughts put in Nightcrawler's accented voice. A soft thud indicates that Storm and Wolverine have reached the roof. Professor X sends them a telepathic message. There's no more movement. Silence.

Suddenly, in the middle of the room, a solitary fire flickers into life. It spreads exponentially until it is a roaring inferno towering above us, licking the roof with scorching tongues. Its flickering light reveals the shadowy corners. Magneto's hanging haphazardly outside down from the roof in some corner. He seems unconscious. His protective helmet is off. Faintly at first, a cynical, demented laughter reaches us from below. Pyro. Riding some sort of elevator, he appears from the hole in the ground where flames spurted. A twisted look in his face in contrast with a wide grin.

He waves his hands, the flames take forms and change direction. A stampeding bull charges towards Scott and company. A soaring eagle swoops down upon the three of us. But it stops, vanishes in mid-flight. Doing a double-take, we realize that the bull is still charging towards the others. Nightcrawler is getting ready to teleport out of the tricky situation. Pyro has stopped. Frozen in his mad pursuit of incineration. He is staring at someone in our group.

He's looking straight at me. His expression is blank, wide-eyed in surprise. He didn't expect me, did he? I try to attack him, now that he is off-guard. Nothing. I cannot move. We have both frozen in time. Looking at each other. Panic begins to swell within me. I can only watch.

Nightcrawler can't seem to teleport, though he seems to be trying. The fiery bull is almost upon them...

TO BE CONTINUED...


	6. Chapter 6: Wings of Death

CHAPTER SIX: WINGS OF DEATH

Can't move. I can't move. Somehow, my entire body is frozen, but not my mind. I can see the struggle going on perfectly well.

Pyro is trapped in his own mind, oblivious his own pyrokinetic creations. A bull the size of a man, entirely made of flames, stampedes towards Scott, Nightcrawler, and Beast, at least ten yards from where I am. No one seems to be powerful enough to stop it. Poor Nightcrawler -- trapped within his own mind, too -- cannot teleport them out of harm's way. Beast's physical powers are useless against fire. And Scott's optic force beam would only pass through the fiery bull, causing it no harm.

Mine is the freedom to watch them die... I shudder to think such things. My love will never die, ever! Scott will survive this, I know. So will the rest. They must.

"Cyclops!" Rogue, standing here besides me, springs into a run towards them. But unless she has super-speed, she won't get there in time. "Watch out!" Her voice gives out into an emotional croak.

Professor Xavier, in his wheelchair besides me, trapped too, watches in horror. Cyclops -- Scott, for me and me alone -- is the leader of the team. This must seem like a nightmare for him. He can't walk. He can't save them. Or us. His face contorts in concentration. Telepathic wave after wave break out from his powerful mind and wash over us all. What he's trying to do, I do not know. But I hope it works, soon.

There are words in the air. Something else rather than what I see now with my eyes. My sight shifts to Pyro. He's still standing there, unmoving. Staring wide-eyed at me. The words are his. Trying to communicate with me telepathically. Yet, how? No matter, that which I ignored up to now rushes into my mind. There's more than words. There are images, incoherent sounds... music? The image becomes clear at once. In his mind, Pyro is remembering his own tortured past.

_A basement, dimly lit, like this. There is a table. He's on the table -- on his back -- a frightened child of barely twelve. Another person -- an older man -- stands over him. The man touches his bare legs, lets his hand slide down to Pyro's private area. The child -- the pyrokinetic mutant -- screams in horror, but the man does not move. He flinches at the high-pitched shrill. Frowns, smacks child Pyro across his face. Another terror-filled scream. But something else: the flames that were on the candles nearby, for need or macabre decor, flare up. They dance and swirl, grow. Finally they envelop the man, too consumed in molesting the poor boy to have noticed before. The man lets out a scream as the flames engulf him, consuming him. Pyro scrambles away, into a corner, and watches with horrified delight the workings of his own revenge. The memory fades. I still stand aghast._

It must have taken less than a minute. Seconds. As I take a panicked glance sideways, the bull still hasn't reached the others. Rogue is still running, too far away to get there in time...

"_You see? You see why we must stay together?"_ My attention snaps back to Pyro, immobile as ever. A tear rolls down his cheek. A great pain swirls its way to me from him. Sympathy swells in my own heart. _"P-Please, stay with me! Don't leave me! Stay. Stay. Stay..."_ The word echoes in his own mind. He repeats it so many times it becomes a blur.

Scott's optic beam flashes across the room. It hits Pyro on his back. The bull stops, vanishes in thin air. Pyro falls to the ground unconscious. I can move again. But stay looking at his fallen form in despair.

I realize what has transpired. Emotion over-floods its boundaries. Knees become weak, and I fall onto the floor. So nervous. Shaking. The brooding, masking dimness has returned, like fog. I look up. Scott's safe. So are the others. I let out a sigh. But it echoes forever.

Hastily, I look up. Strange. Rogue is still running towards the other three. Nightcrawler has vanished from sight, teleported off somewhere unknown. The others are standing around, but they are not moving. Or rather, they are. But it is all the same motions, over and over. Perpetually. Scott's looking at me with a worried face. He must have seen me collapse onto the floor. He's worried, or was he? What is he feeling now? They are trapped, like I was just a few minutes before. Can they see what is happening too?

Everything is quiet, except the sound of fighting above. Wolverine and Storm are being attacked. Thud, thud, bump! Growling. Swoosh! But in here they echo forever.

I stand up. I am free of the mesmerism. I look puzzled towards the Professor, on my right. His forehead is creased in concentration. Keeping himself and me out of the illusion. _"Go." _I hear him in my mind. I begin to walk, foot-steps loud, threatening to break the world into little shards of glass. At times it seems that I advance nothing, but perpetually walk, as if in a dream. Then I suddenly realize that I have walked farther than I wanted to. _"Keep walking, he is around here. Keep looking." _

"_What are you doing? Stop. Stop! I order--"_ There's another mind struggling to breach the Professor's protection. Mesmero. He fails every time.

I turn sharply around. Nothing. I swear I heard something there before. I can feel it. A man, shrouded in mist, in illusions. A grin slashes across my face. Water seeps from beneath the concrete floor, gathering in a shallow pool. Ripples. A lethargic splash as he tries to carefully step away from it. To avoid being seen. The pool expands. He's trapped now. He panics, loses control. Flashes into view for a second. Yes, it is Mesmero, trying with all his might to keep himself unseen. And at the same time, to keep the others in that state of endlessness.

The ground shakes. Boiling waters being pressured out from deep within the earth. They rise. Concrete floor cracks, bulges up. Water explodes up from below Mesmero. A boiling column of liquid picks him up a few feet into the air. The source gives out, and he collapses back down with a nasty crack of fractured bones. The others are released from his hold as reality ripples back from illusion. He unceremoniously drags himself away from view again, to a shadowy corner.

Movement and life returns to the room, as well as voices, and sounds. The others run to where Magneto is still hanging upside down, trying to free him. Beast and the Professor casting anxious glances around. Keeping an eye out for Mesmero or any others. Scott walks over to me. He needn't talk. He worries. I can see it in his face.

I reach out a hand to him, which he takes and gently squeezes it for reassurance.

There's something else in the air. I can feel a sharp difference from a few moments ago. A presence. Someone. Closing my eyes, I sense my way to the disturbance. I release the tight grip on Cyclops's hand. My head tilts upwards to find it, eyes opened. There is something familiar about this. In sudden shock I find myself wondering if it is the other Horseman, the one the Professor could not identify. It is different though. When I sensed Pyro, now lying still unconscious on the ground, I sensed need and craving for companionship -- love. This one is cold, calculating. Airily cold.

A great creaking sound comes from above. The roof is being torn away. A corner detaches and flops up and down precariously. More and more is being peeled away. Powerful winds sweep over us, as the roof of the warehouse finally gives a mighty groan and it torn away.

Storm. She hovers in mid air not too high above us. Arms outstretched, she commands the winds to blow against her opponent. A winged man, effortlessly keeping his own balance in the air. Once more I am glued on the spot, but not for long. A fireball flies up against the wind and smacks against Storm's side. It engulfs her in flames and she crashes into the roofless warehouse. Wolverine jumps over the wall and catches her before she falls to her death. The hurricane winds subside and settle into a breeze.

The flying man beats his wings gently, allowing himself to descend near to where an awakened Pyro now stands. Suddenly I feel as if my heart has been gripped by a cold fist. It is an angel. No. A demon. Neither: the Horseman of Air. Accomplice of Pyro's demented plot. His face is drawn into a cruel smirk. Blue skin taught over bones and scanty flesh. A skin-tight suit, blue with purple streaks becomes an illusion of a second skin. From his back, metal wings are spread wide. One of them protectively embracing Pyro's fiery-looking form. Yet it doesn't touch him.

I hear Rogue give a loud gasp, not too far behind me. There's a general stirring, restlessness. Do they recognize this mutant?

"Angel! What happened to you?" The Professor croaks out.

The blue and winged man speaks, "Angel? I am no longer that fool! I am Death. Horseman of Apocalypse!"

He doesn't care what pain that name causes to me. So boldly spoken, it destroys all happiness within me. Evaporates my hopes. I shudder in fear of the memories. But they do not come. Instead, his cold, piercing gaze lands upon me.

"_You have come. Will you join us? Or shall we force you?"_ No emotion in that, his mind is as cold as his voice. As dead as his heart. Pyro hears this too, in his own mind. He stirs uncomfortably.

I begin to shake my head. But his answer is quicker than I thought. My senses scream out in pain. Stabbing. Burning. Unbearable pressure. A screech beyond all human comprehension. Phlegm rises to my throat, stays, and burns. My mind is being jabbed by a thousand telepathic knives. I let out a scream. Desperate. Scott hurries over to my side. But his touch alone is magnified a thousand times into a pain beyond belief. I shove him away, and fall to the ground. Writhing. Hands clapped to my sides. Shaking. Crying.

I am vaguely aware of Death's voice, "Do not move, or we'll kill him!" The ground begins to shake again. Boiling water rising, rising.

The assault is not over, yet. That terrible cold and heartless soul proceeds to reawaken the most painful memories of my short life. The accidents. The Deaths. They all die over and over. Screaming horribly in pain. It all blends into a shrieking frenzy. Just as they die, I die, over and over. And then wake up again, only to feel more pain.

Professor X's mind is trying to reach me. As my desperation peaks, I feel his thoughts far away. I rush to them. But there is no relief. The torture continues.

"_Professor! Help me! Make it go away!"_

"_Calm down, Sam. Calm down!"_ His voice is commanding, but gentle. Calming. Yet, the torturous pain is not deflected. _"Learn to shut it down. Now! Listen to me! It doesn't exist. It cannot harm you! Shut it off. Away. Away!"_

A cruel voice intercedes, _"No! Stay away, foolish old man! Listen to ME! Join us now! Join us--"_

"_Concentrate, Sam, concentrate. Shut it off--"_

"_Join us, and the pain will stop! It will all go away! Join us--"_

"_Concentrate!"_

Think. Focus. Concentrate. Calm down. Shut it off. Breathe. Again, repeat. Think. Focus. Concentrate--

It stops. The ground stops shaking. So suddenly, it is like falling into a void. Everything is so still. No one moves. No one speaks. I cry. Emptying my watery soul upon the cracked concrete floor. A huge effort. Stand up. I will every muscle in my body to cooperate. Shakily, I rise to my feet. Straighten up. Tall, defiant.

Nothing else in the universe seems to move. It is all fixed upon this very moment. I have triumphed. Overcome my own weakness. "I have walked through the valley of death--" A passage from Scripture surfaces to my mind, from those long ago days when Mother used to take me to church. I was blessed, then, with a gift. Not a curse.

"So, you have chosen death." The demonic angel states plainly, coldly. I wonder suddenly what dark past did he have. What twisted nightmares did Apocalypse use against him. I cannot help but to grin: the name no longer affects me. It has lost its fierceness. Its horridness and power. Smashed it lies along with the ruins of its foundations.

The earth shakes violently. This is not my doing. Someone else. I feel another presence. I have spoken too soon. The battle is not over yet. It quakes again, stronger. The X-Men are knocked off their feet.

Pyro struggles to maintain his footing. Not him, however. Death stands unmoved, hovering a few inches above the ground. A cold emotion on his face. Eyes narrowed. An indulgent smile?

"Ah," a word that chills to the bone, cuts deep within, "they have finally arrived!"

The earthquake intensifies. Now the walls crack, crumble. A visible wave travels across the ground, rippling and bulging up everything along its path. The remaining walls of the warehouse fall as the wave passes them. Nothing is left standing. Turning around, I see the rest of Magneto's forces assembled outside. The Acolytes with Sabertooth in the lead. The Brotherhood, led by Avalanche. A shiver runs down my spine. It is him! The fourth and last Horseman is here. All four are gathered in the same place at the same time.

I turn to the Professor, who nods. He understands too. Suddenly it is so plain. So simple it. This was their plan all along...

The scene breaks out into chaos.

Sabertooth and Wolverine, hated enemies, clash in mid-run; claws and jaws snapping at each other. Inflicting the most damage possible. Beast launches himself against the metal-covered man, Colossus; who catches him in the air and throws him backwards. Indulging his bullying needs the Blob, runs towards Nightcrawler, who seemingly reappeared during the torture, and disappears just in time to avoid being crushed. Only to reappear and be attacked by Toad, who spits his greenish goo on him and momentarily blinds him. Scott departs from my side in the heat of battle and goes to lend a hand to Nightcrawler, zapping himself from place to place to avoid both mutants. Storm rises into the winds and flies straight towards Death, shooting a flash of lightening; winged, Death beats his wings once and takes off unharmed; she pursues him in the air. The mutant called Gambit lights up a playing card of his and throws it at Rogue's feet; it explodes and throws her backwards. As she stands up Quicksilver flashes and hits Rogue savagely in her stomach, but before he can flee she grabs him by an exposed body part. Absorbing his powers, and leaving him unconscious on the ground, she hurries over to finish her score with Gambit.

Avalanche is oddly standing still, unmoving, as if listening to something we cannot hear. I know what must be going through his mind. I pity him. The Professor cautiously avoids all battle and makes his way to Avalanche's general direction.

But I hear something from besides him, a battle cry. I turn around and see Pyro running at me, ablaze. Raising my hands, I summon water from below and two powerful streams clash against him while still a few feet away.

"Stop this!" I yell at him from where I am at. "They'll tear each other to pieces!"

He laughs, "What gave you that idea?" A huge fiery bird of prey forms from his hands, fueled by that tank on his back. I run as fast as I can towards him, closing my eyes, hoping that he doesn't notice me. He doesn't. Too absorbed in his own creation that will supposedly decimate the battlefield. I charge and tackle him with all my strength. We fall and roll in the broken ground, still entangled in our limbs.

Somehow, he manages to get the upper hand, and lands on top of me, trying to pin me down. Struggling with all my strength, I free a hand. Command moisture to coalesce and coat my free arm. A crystal forms around it, I trust, strong as metal. I bring it down upon his back, and his gas tank, breaking it. Above me, he roars in frustration. Punches me in the face. I look at him, so identical to that man who molested him as a child. Seemingly reading my mind, his face twists into a desperate frown, and recoils off me.

I stand up as water seeps up from underground and begins to cover his entire body. Hardening almost immediately. Trapping him in a grip he cannot break, nor thaw off. There are no more flames, or fuel to keep his fire alive. Satisfied that he is securely restricted, I turn and look towards the rest of the battle.

The rest of the X-Men are being overcome. The Professor has given up on his attempts to rouse Avalanche from the trance, and is making his way to where Magneto now slumbers in the floor. It is all a misunderstanding. The Brotherhood and the Acolytes are fighting the X-Men because it is a habit now. They think that we have come to attack them. If Magneto can be awakened, the meaningless battle would stop. The Horsemen's plan would be thwarted. Just as the Professor reaches the crimson clad knight-in-slumber, a flash of silver streaks across what used to be a warehouse. Quicksilver knocks the Professor off his wheelchair. A flash of Scott's optic beam hits him and a throws him a few feet away.

Overhead, storm clouds have gathered and flash occasionally with lightning and claps of thunder. The white haired woman flies across the clouded skies after the illusive blue man with wings. His cold laughter echoes throughout the place.

Professor Xavier indignantly crawls his way to Magneto. Reaches a hand, and places it in his forehead. Immediately the magnetic fields of the place are felt. Magneto opens his eyes; they're blank, speaking volumes of his great power. He levitates himself off the ground, looks around. Stares back down at Xavier. No helmet to isolate his mind from the Professor's. Their eyes are locked in communication. Magneto looks away and in a booming voice orders his troops to stop at once. The battle is over.

Seeing this, Death stops his bemused laughter. He quickly glances at Pyro, still trapped by my very own creations. A deep frown. A lightning bolt strikes him from behind, and he begins to fall to the ground. It's a rouse; he quickly regains his balance and swoops low over the gathered mutants. In a swift maneuver he reaches for and grabs Avalanche, still entranced, and flies off with him, too fast for Storm to follow.

Moved with sudden inspiration, I attempt a new trick: command the ground to even out and propel me forward. It obeys, and I glide serenely towards the rest, Pyro sliding safely behind me. Once there, Magneto shoots me a disapproving glance, but it vanishes as the Professor speaks into his mind.

~*~*~

The X-Men are all aboard the Blackbird. We are ready to take off. Storm and the Professor are piloting the plane. Wolverine managed to inflict a number of serious injuries on himself while battling Sabertooth. He's resting in the back seat.

As we take to the air, I spot seven orbs floating alongside us. There goes the Brotherhood and the Acolytes, minus two. Avalanche has been taken by Death; I fear we have lost him forever now. I hope not. As odd as it seems, the Professor has offered them to come with us, now that their own base has been destroyed. I know this means more than a simple invitation. He proposes an alliance between us. To put aside differences and work together to stop Apocalypse and his mad Horsemen. Magneto did not say anything. But I take it as a good sign that he has accepted coming with us to the mansion.

I steal glances at Scott besides me. He is deep in thought. He catches me looking at me and smiles. This time more sincere than when we first came here. I reach over to where he is seating and take his hand in mind.

"I love you," I murmur to him, our little public secret.

"I love you, too."

A brief kiss. We're still working on public displays of affection. And we return to thinking, hand-in-hand.

There's only one thing in my mind now: Pyro is coming with us, too. As a prisoner, nothing more. But already, even though he is stowed away under heavy surveillance in another part of the Blackbird, he begins to worry me. I know things the others don't. I know of his tragic past. And, for once, I pity him. Poor, demented soul.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	7. Chapter 7: Burrowed Dreams

CHAPTER SEVEN: BORROWED DREAMS

Sharing the mansion with the Brotherhood and the Acolytes is not easy. No one said it would be. In the last three days alone, there have been more than a few fights between our ranks. The feeling of tension is almost unbearable. More than often they will endure each other in public. No one dares to start anything while either Magneto or the Professor are around. Out of their censorship, however...

I manage to stay out of it all. After all, I have always been an outcast. Except for Scott, and the others who were present in the momentous battle, I remain a shadow unworthy to be noticed. The rumor has gone far and wide, however. Perhaps, in my wake, they murmur among themselves. Perhaps they call me the Water Horseman of the Apocalypse. I do not pay much attention. Don't particularly care, either.

Admittedly, not even the Professor shows himself that often anymore. Neither does Magneto. They spend hours locked in the office, along with the other senior members of the X-Men. Scott is invited into those meetings more often than I am. Sometimes, when he returns to our room, he tells me. Sometimes he doesn't. I understand: it is very delicate. So far, Apocalypse has kept himself under the radar. The elders, as I have begun to call them, suspect that he might not be free at all. Not yet. That perhaps there is still one more key left to be found. Yet, it doesn't matter; no one can hope to locate it. The few times I have been invited to the meetings, the talk is always the same. They ask me about the past, and about how do I think this and that might have happened. I answer as well as I can, and immediately they return to their feverish debates.

I can sense they are trying to avoid Pyro. He might give them the answers they want. The Professor has lost confidence on his own skills, or so it seems. Pyro's alone, save for round-the-clock surveillance and the occasional visitor.

I thought it would only happen once. I would be able to find closure. For what? There had never been anything between us. But somehow, the pity within me won out and made me turn the other way one morning. Breakfast could wait...

~*~*~

Taking the elevator, I went down to the less known part of the mansion. Outside of us, and the few intruders, no one knows about it. It is both a training and a research facility -- at least for the Professor and Jean, being the only ones capable of using Cerebro. Pyro's cell was located to the far end of the long corridor, off to the right; opposite to Cerebro.

Ororo, or Storm, depending how you've met her -- stunning white hair pulled back in a pony tail -- stood outside the closed door. She greeted me with the usual good-mornings, and let me pass. Didn't ask any questions, she seemed to be expecting me.

Inside, in a brightly lit room, there was a cubic cage with steel bars. Inside the cage, big enough to be a room of its own was Pyro. He sat on his bed, reclined against the bars. Dressed in plain white clothes that somehow fit him in every way. He seemed to be lost in thought as I came in. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to observe him much longer. He noticed me and without looking at me, grinned.

"Welcome to my lair," his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

I said nothing, but proceeded to get closer to the bars. Touched one of them, to satisfy my curiosity. They were not electrified. I shook my head. What would make me think that the Professor would allow such treatment? Pyro looked straight at me, with a look of resignation and acceptance of his fate that left me gasping for air. Is this all a well planned act? I decided to be more careful from then on.

There was a chair in a corner. I sat down. Not a word. Silence for at least five unbearable minutes.

"So, have you come to witness the freak show?"

I pitied him, then. But I also felt compassion for him. All he needed was someone to love him, understand him. Forgiveness, perhaps? But that has been denied from him. Because his wrong was to kill, main, and mute his victim forevermore. Underneath those layers of dementia is a scared little boy. Oh, how I felt drawn to reach and hold him close. But the barriers between us are greater than just these metal bars -- no doubt a suggestion of Magneto.

No, it was not love. I decided that right then and there. I do not know what it was, or still is. Nothing else happened that visit. We did not talk. I just sat there and looked at him. Don't know what I was looking for, but I did not find it. Pyro, or should I say John, mainly avoided meeting my gaze, and spent the frustrating minutes looking away moodily. He stole quick glances at me, which I caught. Blushing, he would look away every time. After five minutes I decided that the entire thing was hopeless, stood up, and left.

Storm was being replaced by Jean. They stopped their chatter as I opened the door. I did not bother to look at Jean's scowl. Didn't bother to say goodbye to Storm either. Just walked away. For some odd reason, I was mad. At whom? Me or him? Or both..?

~*~*~

That was the day after the battle -- two days ago. The thought of returning has not even vaguely appeared in my mind. It is pointless to think about it. What could I possibly gain from wasting my time like this?

"Sam?" Rogue. "Are you okay?" She worries too much about nothing. We are at dinner, why can't she let me eat in peace!

"Yes," I return moodily. The blank look on my face, the half-closed, slightly bored eyelids. That should clue her in.

"Are you sure? You've been acting strange lately."

"Pissed off it's more like it." Kitty Pride murmurs to the closest person on the table.

I shoot her a smoldering look. She gasps as the spoon she was taking to her mouth dissolves. She insults me. Not whispered, aloud. I chose to ignore her. Almost every eye at the table is looking at me. I can feel them on me, trying to dig into my soul. Find the gory details. Too bad.

Standing up rather quickly, I look down at my unfinished meal. "Excuse me."

And depart the embarrassing scene. For almost a minute there I thought I'd break down in front of them all. Hastily, I retreat to my own room. That is my haven, a place of peace. And the setting for romance and passion. Empty now. Though Scott will be here soon enough, asking me what happened to me at dinner. Will I tell him?

No. I can't. Not until I am absolutely sure that it is truly nothing to worry about. Those awkward minutes with John -- no, Pyro -- two days ago have left me confused. That's all. There's also all that tension with the new living arrangements. My nature allows me to pick all the wrong vibes floating around me.

Who am I kidding? I must see him again. This time I cannot let stupid metal cage to keep me from finding what I want: peace of mind. Somehow, I have the idea that it is my fault. That I cause him pain and suffering. I lie to myself. He lies to me too, putting up that facade of the martyred victim.

When Scott arrives I fake to be sleeping. He doesn't say a word, but closes the door after himself and heads to his own room.

~*~*~

_Lightning flashes. Thunder claps. A witch with white hair that whips its way across the sky is pursuing an angel. The witch's tremendously long hair coils itself around the angel, and a bolt of lightning zaps him out of the sky. The angel falls in front of me. _

_He's changed. Have leathery wings with metal spikes coming out of them, like a gigantic lightning rod. His face is contorted in pain. Then his face contorts in anger. He screams at me. Seemingly blaming me for his twisted fate. The angel's wings become dust and he too grows long hair, but this time red. He still yells at me with various cuss-words and general slander._

"_You had to accept--" silence, his mouth still moves but I can't hear words "--you fell into it! You bastard--" silence again "--you ruined my life! Destroyed it--"_

_And he goes on, but I do not listen anymore. Childishly, I clap my hands to my ears and chant in a sing-song voice, "La-la la-la la-laaaa, I can't hear you! La-la la-la la-la!" Suddenly, I realize I am a child. Nervously, I look around. The angel-who-isn't is not there anymore. _

_I am in my room, talking to... no one. But I can hear words. A boy's voice. He talks to me about himself, and how screwed up his family is. He is very ashamed of things his father does to him, in the basement. So he won't tell me. The voice matures, deepens, croaks with puberty. The subject of his talks changes too. He is no longer living with his family, most of them died. Tragic. He's in an orphanage now._

_Suddenly, Mother comes into my room. I turn around to face her, sweeping my gaze over the various posters and icons of teenage rebellion. I am a teenager too. We've both grown up together. Accompanying each other with the occasional talk. Mother is furious. She keeps droning on about the pictures in the closet door. What pictures? She shows me. I deny them. She takes another stab: my conversational friend. He is not real, she says. I am crazy, she raves on. I need to see a psychiatrist, she yells._

_Madness swells in me. I can't stop it. What am I doing? Why is the ground shaking so much..._

_Why is the man burning?_

_Why are the children screaming in pain?_

~*~*~

I wake up with a start. I was dreaming. My surroundings clear up around me and I find myself oddly glued to the floor, as if hugging it. I spring to my feet immediately. It was his fault. Pyro. He's dreaming, too. Remembering his own twisted past, filtering into my own dreams. This must end now. All issues must be solved once and for all. Now.

Hurriedly I grab the closest item of clothing available. My black leather trench coat, and drape it over my shoulders. I quickly move down the corridors, take the elevator down to the lower-level corridor towards Pyro's cell. There's no one keeping guard now, they are all sleep. I push the door open and it bangs loudly against the wall. He looks at me, same bland look of accepted martyrdom. How can he still believe in his cause?

His face tells me that he also just woke up. A droplet of sweat rolling down his temple means that it wasn't a pleasant dream. He opens his mouth to speak, his eyes squinting with the malicious intent to poison his words. He does all of this consciously. Then, how can he say he loves me?

"What have you been doing to my mind!" I roar.

He first stutters, his face rid of that resigned look, shocked actually. "What do you think you are doing here!?" He yells back at me.

I am mad again. It bubbles within me with increasing pressure. Urging me to find a way to release it. I spring into a run towards Pyro. The metal bars liquefy a second before I make contact with them, opening a wide hole for me to go through. He doesn't move from his reclining position in his prison-bed. Makes it easier for me to jump on him, pinning him down, and punch him in the face. He still doesn't move. I roar in anger and lift my first to punch him again. But he blocks my hand as it comes down, inches from his face.

"So, you like it rough?" He says sensually with a smart-ass smirk.

My other hand slaps him hard across the face. For some odd reason, I wait for his reaction. His smirk remains, narrowing his eyes to hold back the tears of the sting.

"Oh yeah! You love it!"

I am stunned. Somehow that stupid comment has more effect on me than his corporal punishment. I am frowning, but do not move from on top of him. Hastily he moves this way and that and all the sudden flips me around. Now I lie on my back, on the bed. He's on top of me again. His face is a window into a battlefield of emotions and urges. Pyro masters himself momentarily. Placing his limbs so that they not only interlock with him, but also pin me down, he leans forwards, closing the gap between our bodies. His body temperature is smoldering. A true fire elemental.

"What do you think I am gonna do now?" His tone is calmed, though strained.

I can't will my vocal-cords to cooperate. Instead, I shake my head slightly. He lets out a bemused chuckle. He leans closer, I can feel his breath on my skin. His breathing quickens -- he's nervous. A shocking moment: his tongue streaks across my cheek. Silence.

"Don't touch me," I say weakly. "Let me go. Please."

"No!" He croaks out. "You can in here for something. What is it?"

His masochist ways infuriate me. The way his body is laid on top of me, as if to make love to me should I accept to. Or rather, beg him to make love to me. He would only accept a plea. Once again, I am caught between pity and disgust and hatred. How could that sweet innocent boy I used to talk to in my mind have become this?

"Your dreams." I state plainly, but acidly.

"Ah," he shifts around, so that our crotches brush lightly against the other. Gasp. He masters his voice again, "They're interfering?"

"They are tormenting me!" I struggle vainly under him, his grip begins to slacken.

He doesn't say anything for a while. His face is blank, seemingly running over the events of the dream we shared a few minutes ago. I struggle to get free again, he willingly lifts his body off mine and retreats to the other corner of the bed. For the short while it lasts, I study his face. I will punish myself for thinking this, later. But plain like this, his face looks almost angelic. Innocent. Yet it changes again. That look that pretends to mask his broken soul. But I can see. It is my nature.

I venture to ask, "Why do you give your soul to Apocalypse?"

He is taken aback by this question. He probably never expected me to ask it. But he takes his time, and thinks about it. As if there was actually something to think about. "He understands me."

"Are you sure? He uses you, John." My stomach does a summersault to mention his first name aloud.

"Yes, I'm sure." Short, crisp. Threatening. He's not sure. "But you wouldn't know. You traitor!"

That stung. I make a point of showing it. Was that guilt and shame that flashed through his face? What exactly does he feel for me?

"I think I love you, Sam." Stunned again, speechless. "But you make it difficult. You gotta go and seduce that goody-goody boy toy of yours."

Now I'm insulted. "I love Scott! Not you."

"Are you sure?" He retorts. It hurts, deep inside. I dread to simply think about it.

No, I am not sure. But I will not tell him that. Instead, "Yes."

"Then what do you feel for me?" There's the needy look that breaks the heart.

"I don't know," I admit in a moment of weakness.

"And you would like to find out. Once and for all. That's why you came here tonight." Yes, that is it. But please, don't make me... I can't speak at all.

He doesn't give me a choice. He crawls across the bed, bridging that small distance we had allowed ourselves. Entering a new intimate zone. A zone that I am so afraid of. I am afraid I will like it. Gently, our lips meet. Neither of us moves. Our first kiss. All of my neurons fire repeatedly, excitedly. Heart beats faster. Breathing quickens. Skin blushes bright red, releasing heat, warmth. He moves closer, till our bodies press together again. He's an inferno. Scorching. Addictive.

In a surprisingly delicate move of his, his hand brushes my cheek, caressing it. I gasp, our lips still together. This gives him the opportunity he desired, and his tongue slides into my mouth. I freeze. He doesn't. My mind screams in protest, but my body is too stunned to act upon it. His free hand strokes my back softly, somehow breaching the security of my trench coat, and shirt. Caressing my bare flesh. It sends shivers up my spine. But they turn into the same protest.

Suddenly, I move. Stand up abruptly with a strength that I did not know I possessed. He falls on the floor, looking shocked at me. His face wears a pleading look. Deep need, no satisfaction. I notice by the way his entire body screams for it to continue. All the signs are there. Poor guy. He must have fantasized of this all his life, ever since he felt the drive for it.

"I am sorry," my voice croaks with emotion. "But I do not love you. Not in that way."

And spring into a run, bars rematerialize behind me, door closes securely behind me. Corridor. Elevator. More corridors. My room. It is all a blur. I am crying. Maybe of sadness. Maybe of happiness. This is my answer: I do not love him -- I have already told him. Case closed.

I love Scott.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	8. Chapter 8: Breaking Out

CHAPTER EIGHT: BREAKING OUT

The birds sing of morning and I awake wearied and unready to face the day--the night was punishing enough. Scott stretches out on the bed, next to me, looking down on me as if I were a thing worth scientific study. Behind those ruby lenses, his eyes strain to read my face, and peer into my soul. Consciously, embarrassed, I chose a sleepy mask over my face, and stretch my lips into a smile to greet him. Mindless of morning breath, he dives in and kisses my lips softly. As if he can taste my fears through such intimate contact. I react, kiss him back, hand caressing his soft hair. We part.

"Good morning," I say.

He is still silent, watching me. I ignore his lack of response, reminding myself how pent up and controlled he can sometimes be. Standing up, I realize I'm still wearing the trench coat, dishelved and wrinkled after sleeping at night in it. He's watching that, too. I take it off and throw it on the bed, hoping to startle him out of his staring. He looks at the piece of clothing, then at my half naked body with a different thought in mind. I notice the lust bubbling up within him, and smirk knowingly.

"You should shower and put on something nice. I want to spend the day with you," he says matter of factly.

"Oh, where are we going?" Ignoring that he left me no room to decline. Perhaps, he senses that I need freedom from the tense atmosphere in the mansion.

"I don't know. The Mall, perhaps, then to lunch. Stuff."

"Cool!" And I collect a clean towel and a new pair of boxers. "Scott?" I ask softly, my naked back turned to him.

"Yes, love?" He still seems distracted, and I can sense worry in his voice.

"Are you alright?" I turn my head to face him, but continue to mindlessly pick through my wardrobe for something to wear today.

"I am," and I cannot fail to think he is definitely not alright. He says no more, and I respect his silence. Eventually, he will share it with me, if he trusts me. I like to think he does.

I walk slowly to the bathroom, wondering what this auspicious day might bring about.

~*~*~

He shopped little, but did not waste a single excuse to have me try out new clothes, and even made me model them before him. Once, he said, "I love the way you look in that!" I was wearing torn jeans and a flowery Hawaiian shirt, and accordingly grimaced. He'd made me try it on, arguing, "You should wear lighter colors, babe!" I went back inside the changing room and took it off; bought nothing at Old Navy. Instead, I went to HotTopic, and tried on a new black coat. He hated that, of course, and came into the changing room with me to nearly rip it off. But once the door was closed and bolted, his lips found mine and kissed them passionately. I wondered if anyone else could see there were two pairs of feet inside the stall.

It is now lunch time, the tensions in his face are visible to the naked eye. He drove me to a restaurant further way from the mansion, still, and I can tell he is getting closer to somewhere. He orders a steak, medium-rare; I busy myself with a robust Caesar salad. Finally, midway through the bloody meat, he looks up and blurts out:

"My brother is coming today."

I finish chewing a slightly bitter mouthful of lettuce, and then say, "Great! Today?"

"Tomorrow. Logan is going to pick him up with the Blackbird," he is visibly nervous.

"What's wrong, Scott? You've been on the edge the whole day. Is your brother alright?"

"It's just," he tarries with the words, "he doesn't know, yet."

And I know precisely what he means. As I feel my throat dry up in nervous realization, I sip a bit of water through the straw. The refreshing coldness of it brings me back to a calm state, where I can think clearly.

I reach out my hands and take his. "Do you think he'll be ok with it?"

"Dunno. But--"

"You're brothers, babe. He'll understand," I assure him compassionately.

"Things are already difficult enough, you know. And I can't lie about us," nor can he stops the way he looks at me, or the fact that everyone knows, and eventually, someone will blab about it carelessly.

"I know," I try lightening the mood, "I couldn't keep my hands off you either!"

Predictably, he chuckles and looks at me longingly. It has been a while since we had last slept together. Things around the mansion aren't ideal for sneaking about in the middle of the night. Surprising myself, I realize it has not occurred to me, yet, to ask that we be given a room together. After all, everyone knows.

~*~*~

We return to find the mansion is quiet and almost desolate. "They must be in the Danger Room," Scott murmurs. Unwilling to let go of each other, we walk slowly to the garden and sit close together under a tree. His strong arms wrapped around me, I tell him of the dreams, and what transpired the night before. He understands, but I don't mention the fact that Pyro nearly violated me. The twisted fire elemental might yet serve his purpose and reveal some vital information to the elders, even if he has shared nothing with me.

"They wanted you to interrogate him," Scott says softly.

I nod, "Makes sense," I hold silent for a minute. "Why didn't they tell me this?"

"The Professor thought you would refuse." And I would have, we all know. Even now, I would not do it. The furthest that man stays away from me, the easier it will be for me to forget all about this damned darkness that seems to be encroaching evermore into my life.

"Are you sure you don't feel anything for him?" Scott asks, his voice careful as if to avoid revealing his fear. But I can sense it thickly in his every word.

I turn around and face him, kneeling at his level, face to face, between his opened legs where I had sat before. "One-hundred per cent sure, my love." And I kiss him, delicately and then passionately. It seems to me his lips and mine fit perfectly, were made to be together. Our arms around each other in such a powerful embrace it is as if we melt together and become a single being. "I love you, and no one else can ever take your place. You save me from myself." I confess, and he knows the truth in that.

Late afternoon finds us locked in each other's arm, our naked bodies drenched in sweat and suffused with the post orgasmic afterglow. He covers me with kisses, and every time his lips touch my skin, it is as if particles of our souls switch and flow freely in between. In turn, I touch him softly and caress his skin, feeling the hardness of his musculature, the softness as our minds dare rub against the other. And we moan with each soft caress in exquisite pleasure.

~*~*~

_I know I am within a dream, for nothing seems real, and yet everything haunts me with familiarity. I see the surgery tables, and the lights that hang down from above, and the instruments wielded by a cold surgeon that possesses no consciousness. He labors on his parts, each scar bleeding slowly. Not too fast, nor slow. Just fast enough to drain him, while another blood-red fluid enters through the IV and changes his physiology, utterly. There are fewer freckles on the angelic face than I remember. And I slowly wonder, as if drugged, from where I know this boy's face to tell the difference. Yet it does not seem to matter._

_Then a saw, its irritating whir. The saw that bites into the flesh and cuts into the bone. Even in the drugged haze I look away, disgusted that beneath such smooth skin, a bloody truth pulses so fiery red. I see his name floating in the sluggish medium of my thoughts: John St. Something. And I know many things in that precise moment, which then vanishes utterly into a vacuum of forgetting..._

~*~*~

When I wake, it is too late to stop the intrusion into the mansion. Certainly it is too late to stop the fire roaring deep within its underground maze of corridors. I choke first on the smoke, unaware of what is going on. Then, I realize Scott still sleeps beside me, and there is a commotion out in the hall. Running feet and shouts, people panicked and fleeting.

Jean Grey bursts into the room, as if she does not know I sleep here. Her face is scowling but nonetheless she manages to say: "Pyro has broken out, and the mansion's on fire. Quick, we need you!"

"What?!" I can barely believe what I am hearing. Scott sits up startled, ready for the battle.

I am still paralyzed with confusion when he firmly says to me, "Come on!"

In the confusion, I wonder if I put on clothes, or if we clothed ourselves before slipping away into the comfortable nap. Jean leads the way, knocking on the dorm doors, and telling the students where to go. Only a few offer to help, but she tells them to evacuate outside the mansion. "Everything is under control," she assures them. How much like a mother hen she looks, then, fierce and fearlessly protecting the young. She leads us through the smoke until the flames roar up from the stairwell at the end of the hall. They wait for me to do something.

"I need a water source--pipes!" I shout over the roar that seems to come from everywhere.

Jean looks puzzled, and then catches on. She closes her eyes, concentrating on the bathrooms midway in the hallway. I hear, or feel, the faucets being telekinetically yanked away, and the pressured water escaping the pipes. Many of them at once, until the entire bathroom begins to flood. I can feel the water, and concentrating, call to it from far away.

It comes bursting through the bathroom door, a concentrated torrent that snakes its way quickly towards us, and the burning stairway. It cascades over the steps, but its weight and the condition of the wood and concrete bring it crumbling down. It turns the water into a cascade that falls on the lower floor, quenching the fires there for good. Pillars of smoke billow out, causing us to cough momentarily.

Next I feel a grip around my waist as it lifts me from the ground, and moves me slowly through the gaping hole that had once been stairs. I do not feel myself touch the floor again, which makes me slightly queasy. As she levitates us through the darkened hall, I will the water to continue pouring and quenching the fires wherever it burns. Silently, I hope the students managed to escape unharmed. Scott and I place our shirt necks up to over our nose and mouth, to avoid directly breathing in the smoke.

"He's down there somewhere, still trying to get up," she shouts and coughs.

Another stairway collapses from the heat and the weight of the water, and so Jean carries us through that as well. However, I can feel her strength wavering, as once or twice we dip dangerously close to the potentially unstable floor. I realize, with shock and sudden concern that her concentration is bent on keeping us floating through the chaos, and she is slowly breathing in the poisonous fumes. Then, as if in reaction to my notice, she faints and we all fall. Scott and I land on our feet, while she crumples unconscious on the ground. Gentlemanly, Scott rushes to her and checks her vitals.

But then, I feel the heat increase within the hallway, and the flames begin to advance from beneath again, despite the flowing water. The water is quickly evaporating as it comes in contact with a seeming wall of pure fire. Behind it, I know, is he. I can sense his every step toward us, his malice scalding me within as the heat without makes the sweat break out.

"Scott! Take her away now, quick!" I am dismayed to admit my voice sounds shrill and frightened.

"What?" He can't sense the coming danger.

"He's coming, Scott. Leave!"

Our eyes see into each other, and he understands, nodding slowly. I see the lines of worry in his face, but he nonetheless picks up Jean's body and hurries in the opposite direction. But they have not gone more than fifteen feet, before the brittle floor gives out beneath them. I watch in horror as they disappear into the level below, and flames suddenly burst through and lick the walls and roof.

But then, Pyro is already upon me, and I have no more than seconds to react to a fist of flame that nearly strikes me down. Stepping back, I almost stumble, but I lean against the heated wall and will the waters to flow stronger, fiercer, and colder. The faucets in the bathrooms in this floor, too, burst with the pressure, and within seconds the water is up to my ankles. He steps back, and the wall of flame around him collapses. Horrified, I see his whole body is wrapped in flames, but they do not burn him. Somehow--somehow he has evolved yet again, stronger.

"This is your last offer, dear Sam," his voice is cynical, scathing. "Come with me, or die."

"Fuck you!" And reacting to the anger in me, the waters rise and throw themselves against him.

But, the heat around him is so much that even then they cannot touch him and is boiled instantly to steam. I walk away from him in horror, dimly realizing that the hole where Scott and Jean fell into has become a small cascade, quenching the fires below. I look up at him, a few feet away from me now, and I can see through the flames his insane smirk. He screams in rage, then, so loud the sound it is as if Hell itself roars with him. The flames burst from everywhere, surrounding me, the heat blazing and scorching.

_No!_ I fight with him and with the fire, and deny utterly the fact that there is no more water to protect me. _No, you will not win! You will not have me!_

Two bodies, one of solid metal and another of ice crash through the roof between me and the demented pyrokinetic. I can scarcely remember their names, but I thank the Heavens they have come in time. The metal one, colossal, shields the smaller body of ice, whose wintry power slowly freezes the hallway, and extinguishes the fire. Then, as if seemingly cornered, Pyro runs the other way and seems to crash headlong into the wall at the end of the hall. It melts from the intensity of the heat, and he falls through.

The rest is blackness in my sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	9. Chapter 9: Recovery & Decisions

CHAPTER NINE: RECOVERY AND DECISIONS

_The endless barren wasteland of the Himalayan Mountains finally end in a sharp cliff. And midway through the cliff, there are a tiny entrances carved by man or nature. A foreboding, gaping cave-mouth. I know inside something terrible and powerful lurks. And only a few exceptional mutants have ever gone within the tunnel, even less have reached the inner sanctum. There are rumors passed down through the ages, whispered loudly across time: within, lies the most ancient and powerful mutant of them all—sleeping. I feel the tide of power call me forth, into the tunnel. Inviting me, even, into the inner sanctum and beyond. But the wicked raw quality of this power scares me, and startles me awake. _

~*~*~

I wake up in his arms, but not in our room. I am outside, and it is sunny. I try to stand up, alarmed of what has just transpired.

"Easy, Sam, stay still," Scott's reassuring voice whispers on my ear, a soft breath of love and relief escapes his lips. I look at him and there are streaks of tears on his face. I move—I can't help it—and embrace him, half alert and half of me still in the daze of waking up after passing out. "Lay down, love. Let Jean work on your burns."

The mention of them brings the pain, lurking in the shadow of unconsciousness, to the forefront. I feel the horrible sickness of smelling burnt flesh. But it is not my flesh. Someone besides me, someone I should know and remember. Still, her body lies on the blanket, spread lightly over the grass. I can feel each stab and scorching burn of the medicine as the cotton dabs gently on the burst blister on my right leg. Looking down, I realize it is at least fist-sized. Jean is tending to it the best she can with limited resources. Beads of sweat form on her brow, furrowed in concentration.

"I thought you had put him to sleep!" Scott murmurs to her, angrily.

"I did, but he broke the seal," she looks up at me, stretching her mental probe to seek access to my mind and find an answer. For the first time, to my astonishment, she cannot penetrate the barrier I have somehow thrown up defensively. Pain sears into my consciousness again, and I cry out, gripping Scott's hand tightly in mine.

"He's stronger than I thought," she murmurs back to him apologetically.

"Why aren't the paramedics here? The ambulance, the fire trucks! Anyone!" Scott whispers again, genuinely exasperated.

"The Professor didn't want the authorities here—"

"The Professor? Or Magneto?" The bitterness in my beloved's voice is thick.

He throws a scowling look at Jean, who does her best to ignore him. I realize, then, that I have gained a measure of respect for her. She seems stronger—over it, over him, over everything. And now she tends to my wounds where she can simply ignore them, out of pride and vengeance.

"Storm had to go in there and put out the fires," Scott continues in his harsh tone. He complains, "If it weren't for her, and Kitty, we'd be—"

"Well, we're not, are we?" She bites back more fiercely. And it dawns on me that perhaps she is not entirely healed of the pain we caused her. She still resents him, for leaving her. And me? There is such tenderness in the way she bandages my leg, covering up the raw flesh. "He'll need to have this looked after later."

"Right," Scott says tersely. "I'll stay with him."

"You should help out in there," she nods towards the mansion. Drowsily, I turn my head and see the blackened sight of its front face, but no more smoke or flames. Storm put them out, I remember them say.

Scott thinks about it, and then looks down at me. I can feel his eyes seek mine. But I avoid his, "You should go. I'm alright." I sit up with difficulty, cough. "Can I walk ok with this thing?" I ask Jean.

"Try it out," and she walks away to the next person a few yards away.

With Scott's support beneath my shoulder, I manage to get up on my feet. The world seems to spin wickedly around me, back and forth like a see-saw. I sway with it, slowly concentrating on a focal point to prevent further dizziness. Last thing I need right now is to vomit. When at last I have regained my balance, I look at Scott. There is so much worry and indecision on his face, splotches of ashes still clinging to his cheeks. I kissed his lips tenderly, not caring what anyone sees or thinks.

"I'm ok, Scott. You should go help 'em out." I say with more confidence than I actually feel.

"You promise you're ok?" He is pampering me, now.

I smile, "Promise."

One more worried look and he goes away into the mansion, like a dutiful captain to command his troops. I imagine there is much to do inside, and hope the fire had been less serious than what I experienced. And yet, beside me, is at least one victim of Pyro's recklessness. Her body looks lifeless, but I can see she is breathing slowly, deliberately. Jean must have put her under for now. I wonder, wearily, if the telekinetic telepath might one day become a doctor.

I walk slowly but surely towards where I see the Professor sitting on his wheel-chair. Magneto is with him and they talk in hushed voices. As I approach them, they stop and look at me, expectantly. _Right, say whatever I have to say, and leave_, I realize. "How did he escape?"

Magneto's lip curls into a disdainful grimace, "Mystique."

I nod slowly, thinking it over. Again, they seem impatient to have me gone so that they can continue talking. The Professor, though, looks at me concerned, his eyes asking me, "Are you alright?" Surprised, I realize he too cannot breach the mysterious barrier that has suddenly formed around my mind.

"Anything else?" Magneto's impatient voice questions. His arrogance rubs me the wrong way; the way he looks at me as if I am an insect.

"I'm the only one left, aren't I? Apocalypse has all his horsemen, except me." Perhaps I am thinking aloud. Perhaps I am reminding him.

"Yes," this time the Professor's sympathetic voice brakes the tension. "Are you sure you're alright?" He can't access my mind, and that seems to bother him.

"I'm better," and I excuse myself and wander off again.

~*~*~

I soaked my feet in the water and sat perched on the lip of the mansion's pool, staring at my own reflection in the darkening sky. _He tried to kill me_, I thought. _And now something is changed within me. Not even the Professor can read my thoughts unless he tries very hard. What is this new ability? Or is it new at all?_ I was not aware how the water reacted to my gloomy thoughts. Several whirls begun to form throughout the surface, spiraling independently. Slowly, drawn to one another, they collided and doubled in size and intensity.

Who had been those that had saved me? Colossus, I remembered. The Russian-born metal giant, if he chose to be; or the brooding stranger from Magneto's Acolytes. And the other one? Iceman, I thought. They could change their very body structure to become solid metal or solid ice. _Like Pyro_, I thought, recalling how much stronger he had seemed. Formidable powers that I had not been able to match.

_Am I condemned to be so weak? So helpless that everyone must look after me, fight my battles?_ But I knew I had not always been like this. Twice already, when some unknown rage had bubbled up from deep within me, I had felt more powerful than even Storm, or Jean. It frightened me, and I shook like a leaf, out of my reverie.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the white haired weather witch stood beside me, looking at the swirling water of the pool intently. There were lines on her face, of concentration or of age? Yet somehow, I knew her to be ageless—perfect.

"Ororo?" I asked her. Interrupting her deep look of concentration, and consternation.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just trying to play with your creations—" She stopped herself. "But I couldn't." There was puzzlement in her voice.

"Jean said I was stronger," I mentioned offhandedly. "The Professor couldn't read my mind."

"_Are_ you stronger?" She asked, worried.

"I don't know," and then I corrected myself. "No, I'm only frightened."

She sat next to me and let her bare feet also dip into the water. The whirl had already subsided somewhat, but kept the pool water in constant state of movement, turbulent. "Sometimes I feel the same way," she confessed.

I let out a nervous laugh without any joy in it. "With your powers?"

"_Because_ of my powers," he looked at me knowingly, reaching deeper through some sort of woman's intuition than the Professor's psychic mind. "But you shouldn't be, Sam. We won't let anything bad happen to you."

There were so many things unsaid but implied in her statement. Scott would kill for me—but would he die trying? She would certainly fight with all her awesome and frightening strength. Rogue would not stop at anything—

"Where's Rogue? I haven't seen her since yesterday," I asked her.

"I saw her this morning at breakfast. Weren't you there?" Storm said, her voice distant as she looked at the smoking marks that rose from the windows.

"Scott and I ate breakfast somewhere else, and then went shopping," it all seemed so far away, so long ago, even though I spoke about today.

"I hope your clothes didn't get ruined. I enjoy your fashion style," she said, grinning, trying to make light of the situation.

"Oh, do you?" I chuckled a bit; amused that such a serious woman would say something like that.

"Dark, like the deep oceans, or the murky lakes," she interpreted.

Smiling, I nodded, liking the comparison. "I miss the ocean," I admitted to her.

"Want to go?" She proposed.

"Now?" I asked bewildered, aware of the possible complications and reasons why I shouldn't step too far from the mansion, now, or ever.

"Sure, I can take you," she says smiling, as if she was not called Storm, but instead Sun. "Ever surfed the wind-tides?"

~*~*~

Upon our return there were tents set up throughout the lawns and a few people came and went into the mansion, now apparently secured, but not habitable. The wind commanded by Storm gently deposited us on solid ground and I was glad to feel _terra firma_ beneath me once again. There was something scary about that unpredictable ride that I did not want to try again, if at all possible.

"Thanks," I told her, smiling.

"Any time, kid," and walked off towards the bigger tent, presumably the Professor's. _A very Logan thing to say_, I thought and grinned. Couples are known to mix personalities so well over time, that one emulates the other.

Scott had seen me from farther away and came trotting towards me. His shirt was wet from the sweat of labor, and clung close to his torso. His hair was wet and fell in bangs about his head. He looked simply adorable, if not completely sexy. "Hey," he said catching up with his breath, "I've got the tent ready."

"Aw, such a thoughtful, sexy, dirty boyfriend!" I grinned at him, and teasingly grabbed his butt, but only for a second.

He flushed bright red, and stammered. "Where were you? I saw Ororo coming back with you in the wind."

"She took me to the beach," a reproving look on his face. "Don't worry, we were perfectly safe. It's our element, after all!"

"Ok, but you should have told me," he put his left arm around my waist and led me to the tent he'd made for us.

"You should have come," I retorted happily, too refreshed to argue with the one I loved.

There was silence as we walked past other tents. I thought I caught different reactions as we passed the people by, two happy gay teenagers displaying their love publicly. I was flushed with both excitement and pride. Scott seemed not to notice. He held me close and leaned ever so slightly over me, as if to smell my hair. It was scented of sea salt and sea breeze. I had not hesitated to wash away the soot of the fire in the cleansing waters of the ocean.

When we reached our tent, and went in, I realized that it was big enough for two. I grinned but did not say anything of my naughty thoughts and plans. Hopefully, tonight would be peaceful enough.

He said, "Rogue is missing."

The fancy was washed away, and I looked at him, aghast. "What?"

"No one has seen her since breakfast this morning, and certainly not after the fire." I sat cross-legged, facing him as he lay on his side, his head resting on his hand. "We've looked everywhere. But—nothing."

"What are we going to do? What is the Professor planning to do, after all this?" I asked, concerned and frightened.

"He thinks Mystique took her—you know she helped Pyro escape, right?" I nodded. "No one actually _saw_ her, but that's beside the point. Pyro escaped, Rogue vanished…"

I thought I heard his thought, so I interrupted it: "He hasn't won, Scott. I'm still here. And so are the rest of us."

"Oh, Sam, but he's so much stronger now!" He sat up and faced me, holding my hands in his and massaging them tenderly. "Already he has three Horsemen. Three! And Rogue. She could be worse than any of them. Were you here when she went berserk?"

"I think so, but I only heard of it," everyone knew how she had lost control over her mutation, and let the entities within take over her entirely. But the Professor had erased them, had he not? Or had he merely blocked them behind some fey barrier? Could they break out?

"She's at least as powerful as every one of us, and more. Much more," his voice was edgy. "Everyone's a bit scared, to say the least."

"So, what are we going to do?" I said, unwilling to wallow in the unhappy present—Rogue was my friend, too.

"Magneto will leave tomorrow with his people in search for her and Pyro," he stopped and thought of something bothering him. "But I don't know how they hope to find them: not even the Professor using Cerebro can locate them."

"So it wasn't damaged?"

"No, it is more protected than the rest of the mansion. Almost impossible to break into."

I was relieved. But within an uncomfortable knot twisted savagely. I knew how he would find Pyro, and perhaps, Rogue. I knew, but I wondered if I'd let him use me and whatever was that bound the pyromaniac and I together.

We went to sleep that night with the rest of the mansion's exiled population. But I couldn't sleep, even when Scott's warm body wrapped itself around me protectively, and he snored happily. Within, a battle raged and I suddenly knew why the Professor had reacted the way he did when his powerful mind could not penetrate my barriers, and search for what it needed to know. I was beyond him, now. Unless I willingly allowed him in—something I didn't even know how to do—he would never find his answers. Or, perhaps, he could obliterate the barrier at my sanity's expense. I wondered, horrified, how far he was willing to go.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	10. Chapter 10: Rising Deep Within

CHAPTER TEN: THE RISING DEEP WITHIN

The night was not peaceful, as I had hoped. Already it was midnight, and I sensed moisture laden clouds gather above the entire night sky. Then, just as expected, thunder clapped and rumbled from corner to corner of the horizon, passing freely from cloud to cloud. But no rain fell. It was as if the flood gates were held firmly closed before the deluge, while the elements raged violently around it. With every thunderclap, Scott would toss and turn and I grew exasperated. Finally, I rose up and went out of the tent. The ceiling of the storm was uncomfortably close.

With a blanket wrapped around me, I stalked between tents and trees, on edge. None of this seemed natural at all. And then I saw a faint light within the Professor's tent. Two figures were inside, sitting face to face. I walked up closer but stopped before the entrance.

"Come in," Xavier's voice said wearily.

Not wanting to seem suspicious, or to disobey, I moved the flap aside and stepped inside the considerably larger tent. It was warm and cozy, and you could stand up straight. Their look of being startled told me it wasn't me they had expected.

"What are you doing up?" Magneto's quick reproach was like a whip.

"I couldn't sleep. I was just walking around…"

"You? At this hour? What were you thinking?" He was mad, perhaps not only at my carelessness, but at the situation.

"I'm sorry, I'll go back to my tent and try to sleep," I apologized meekly.

"No, Sam, stay." The Professor's voice was smooth yet wearied, as if he needed sleep, but couldn't. Tired as if he had over-exerted his formidable mind too much this day. I stood still and waited for further instructions, feeling out of place and guilty. "We could use your help."

"What if I refuse?" I asked timidly as a cold fist gripped my heart and fear flooded my veins.

"Then you'd be letting us all down, and risking the worse, stupid boy!" Magneto didn't seem to care an iota for any emotional balance I might have tried to keep, despite the catastrophes around me. He only cared about himself, his goal, his cause.

I looked at him hard, defiant, and unwilling to cower at his might any longer, and bit back the profanity. "I won't help _you_!" I yelled at him.

"Defiant child!" He rose from the chair and strode two steps towards me.

"Erik!" The Professor shouted, seemingly paralyzing the other man. I noticed he did not wear his helmet, out of respect, perhaps.

The man in the wheelchair turned to me, his face beseeching and compassionate, "Will you help me, Sam?" _After all I've done for you?_ I seemed to hear in his voice, unsaid.

I shifted on my feet, uncomfortable. "I don't know if I can." I admitted.

"Of course you can! Just let him read your mind, simple!" Magneto was furious, like a dog on a leash, and it occurred to me that perhaps he was just anxious to be away from this place and free to do as he pleased.

"It's not that simple, Erik," Professor X gently admonished his comrade of so many years. "You might not realize it yet, but your confrontation with Pyro has forced you to evolve—get stronger. I cannot reach your mind anymore, Sam, unless you let me."

"I don't know if I can," I repeated, miserably. They were counting on me. And I was failing them, again.

"Sit here," he pointed to the seat in front him, where Magneto had sat before. I sat and waited, looking into his eyes, if that helped at all. But, within, fear gripped tightly. "Relax, Sam, and open your mind."

I tried to do as he asked me, but I did not know how. Never in my entire life had I worn such a powerful shield, and this one had sprung up all on its own, as if it were not my doing. I tried visualizing it—seeing a great bubble around my head slowly wearing thinner and thinner, letting in the Professor's mental probe—but it didn't work. The older man concentrated harder, and I could feel a numb pressure in the middle of my forehead. But nothing gave.

The Professor sat back on his wheelchair and sighed with frustration. "It is stronger than I expected," he surmised aloud for the benefit of us all. "But it is not of your making, Sam. I know that. It feels alien and familiar at the same time. I know I have encountered this energy pattern before…"

"Are you saying _you_ can read _his_ mind?" Magneto blurted out.

"Not unless I shatter the mental shield," Charles Xavier sighed again. "And I do not want to cause serious damage."

I was pleased to see he cared for my sanity as much as I did. _After all, they need me_. The thought was entirely unbidden, but it rose up nonetheless from some unknown depth. It was unique amongst my mental chatter and vague thoughts. It was dark in its strength and power. Scared, I tried excusing myself to go.

"No, no, stay a while. Jean should come by soon. We could try again, if you do not mind."

"What if it doesn't work, then?" I asked nervously, but in truth I meant: _What if it works better than you hope it would?_

"Then we'll be able to find them, and prevent Apocalypse from ever returning to this world." The Professor tried to sound confident, but something in his posture betrayed his deeper worries.

~*~*~

_They slid into my mind after mush telepathic pushing and shoving at the thick barrier around my mind. When it finally gave way, it shattered, and I felt a splitting headache immediately supplant it, like a tortuous haze around my mind and thoughts. Once they were inside, all control was wrestled from me, and I could not more a muscle save to breathe and swallow._

_Through this dense and sightless atmosphere they glided: two holographic ideas of who they thought to be. A middle aged man who still had used of his legs, but balding, and a more mature looking woman with flowing red hair that looked on fire. Slowly, very slowly, they came to a shore where black waves lapped at their feet, as if in perpetual night. The sand, however, was bone-white and deadly in its stillness. Far off trees seemed suspended in a vacuum without wind. Nothing moved, except the Professor and Jean Grey._

_Their breaths sent ripples through space, slowly growing in intensity as one exhalation over took the other, and merged. I could only watch them, disconnected, disembodied, disempowered. The mindscape, the sand and the trees, begun to be whipped by an uncontrollable wind. It was furious, and I knew it came from the entity within. They braced themselves against it. Jean tried putting up a telekinetic barrier to protect the two of them, but nothing happened. There was panic in her face, and she turned to the Professor whose brow was close knit in concentration._

_He scanned with all the might within his mind, casting a wandering probe about the inner lands of this hidden world. But now and then the wind would pick up and twist and bend the probe, so that he touched his forehead. It seemed to hurt him, and I grew more and more concerned. _

_I went in that direction from which the wind arose, further "inland" into my own, strange mind. The trees grew thicker, taller, as if to meet my approach with their upward reaching branches—devoid of leaves, bare and skeletal. The wind was still as I approached, but then I doubted it could harm me, so incorporeal in this form. I sensed the jungle would go on forever, since the more I traveled/flew over it, the longer it went on. Burrowing a trick from storm, I let warm airs carry up higher, where I would be able to see the source of the wind. Far off, in the darkness of distant horizon, I saw a structure made of earth or stone. Freefalling, I let my mind itself guide me to it, so that I hovered above the monument within seconds._

_The bulk of it was immense, massive stones heaped upon themselves, and from small dark mouths within the monument, a great moan escaped as if it was in pain or pleasure. And soon, the sound traveling upon the treetops became wind and hurried off to the shore to harass the two telepathic invaders. A mouth at the very top did not moan nor sighed, so that I went in through it and felt no resistance whatsoever. It was dark and cave-like, damp though I could feel so sensation._

_Suddenly a wall of fire blew from within with scorching heat and blinding white brilliance. It did not light the passage, but merely scarred it, blackened it with soot and ashes. When the fire receded deeper into the cavern, I followed after it, conscious that the great heat could not harm me, here inside my mind. But it seemed to me that this was not my mind, my mountain of rock. It was the temple of another who dwelt within. It was the place from where the rage would bubble up, transforming me into a mindless killer._

_The flame no longer came, as if a dragon within had held its breath long enough for me to pass. And then, when I arrived upon the center, he stood there in utter confidence of his dominion of me and all that I was. He did not look like me, but was, rather a shapeless mass of dark water, of bubbling water as if expelling oxygen from its depths. His eyes, however, were alive with demented malice. An uncontrolled hatred swirled within the crazed orbs, and the pupils were catlike, sinister._

"_Who are you?" I asked and at once my voiced seemed like a child's and papery thin like a dying, old man._

"_I am you." It answered simply, without words, or without emotions._

"_No," I said, firmly. "You might be me, but I am not you. I am not you!"_

_He laughed, "Believe you this?"_

"_I am not you!" I repeated like a mantra. _

_He laughed again, and the fluid walls within the temple of his dark habitat trembled with the noise. "You and me are closer than kin, thicker than blood. I have been with you always. I have been in you always. And I will always be here. Always." His words seemed to echo in such an encompassing way that I was too weak to deny, too fearful to refute._

_I felt then something change. Two presences within the temple—Jean and Xavier, lost in exploration. I felt them drawing closer to the terror that stood unmoving in front of me, as if he need not do anything to conquer, but simply mean to conquer._

"_Stay away!" I shouted at them, but there was barely a ripple to show for it._

_He moved closer, imperceptivity, closer, closer till his reek was on me. The stench of putrid things suffocated me, and I fought to breathe in air, as much as he tried to remove every bit of it. We were struggling; I knew it then, for dominion. And I felt so weak, so weak…_

"_Stay AWAY!" I sent with the last pulse of strength that was left within me, before we merged. And it seemed ripples of intention spread out like a vast shockwave, knocking down the temple, which crumbled like a sand castle and sounded like an erupting volcano._

_Out of the thick and dark debris we were pushed out with such violence as I had never felt. And I became acutely aware, all at once, that I could feel and sense the world around me. It was vast as it was evil, a mindless universe of the desperate need to spill blood, to taste the hemoglobin in the water. I struggled, I think, until the end, when the merging was complete. His world became my own, his darkness mine. No longer a separate entity, but integrated was this unknown being from the deep within._

~*~*~

And when it was complete, I arose from the trance-slumber Xavier had submerged me, and looked upon their stricken faces. For, they knew what had transpired, what their daring explorations of my deep within awoken. And, as if through a veil of tears, all that remained of me was crowded in a corner. Suspended, in his clutches, like a doll is held precariously by a violent child—tossed about like a future shipwreck. And as the moments passed, I begun to slowly fade away. The monster that had taken over, vicious and vindictive, sought to punish me yet a while longer--or however long I stayed trapped within myself.

What happened next I can only remember slightly, as if the veil of tears let me see only the commotion, the violence. I remember there was a sense of the ground shaking, waters deep within the earth bubbling up from an unknown surface. Everywhere, the shaking. And in the chaos my possessor deliberately attacked its helpless victims. First would have been the Professor, save for the quick action of Jean's telekinetic shield. Enraged, it turned--using my body and my powers--on Magneto, who stood aghast at what was going on. But, again, thwarted this time by the unlikely appearance of Wolverine, the blood thirsty being from the deep within moved on.

It ran out of the tent and into the clamorous night--the students running about in panic. Storm trying to calm them down before worse came to pass. _Storm!_ The thought was like a silent shout that never made it pass the walls of my dark prison, if it had any. Perhaps perversely aware of my protest, my body's thief charged on towards the weather-witch. She was alerted, however, by the scream of a small child. Unmercifully, he got the worst of it--his bones were liquefied, its fleshed lost firmness, poured out of every orifice like water, and he melted like snow upon the mansion's lawn. The children--for they were no more than little boys and girls--panicked, shrieking aloud, and Storm's carefully constructed order vanished into chaos.

There were shapes running towards me--or the dark one's body. He could sense their fear and their courage, mixing in a volatile mix, and by extension, I could sense it too. Lightning struck it/me from the stormy clouds above, commanded by Storm as she floated in the air. It fell to the ground on its knees, visibly steaming, twitching. In the second it took to recover, the others were already too close to pick them off one by one. Potentially outnumbered, it decided to flee and in a spectacular feat of power, dematerialized and became water itself, seeping into the ground and disappearing for good. For me, Sam Kinoscia, the tiny and nearly insignificant consciousness attached to the darkness of the rest, imprisoned, it was as if all my senses had been blinked out of existence. And then, I knew no more.

FINISHED, FOR NOW.


End file.
